


Breakneck

by methylethyl



Series: Breakneck [1]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-08
Updated: 2011-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 108,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylethyl/pseuds/methylethyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin watches the last vestiges of support crumble beneath his feet, sending him into freefall. He can only close his eyes and pray he’ll land somewhere soft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Push

**Author's Note:**

> A S1 AU that opens a few hours after Justin runs out of the car while driving with his mother in 104. Kidfic. Beta'd by the wonderful silvaofhope.

  


**Breakneck  
**   
**Chapter 1: Push**   


I couldn't draw. I'd asked the nurse for a pen and I'd grabbed a barebacked pink flyer off of the table (FLU SHOTS AT WALGREENS EVERY SATURDAY, ONLY $10), and there were so many people filing in and out of the waiting room, so many faces and twitches and emotions—but I couldn't draw. It was as though someone had pressed the fast-forward button, speeding the faces into a mindless blur. There were emotions sloshing around inside of me, somewhere, below layers of frozen shock and disbelief. I had to draw. Drawing would settle them, let them leak slowly so that I could deal with them—but I couldn't tap into it at all. I couldn't feel anything but icy shock.

I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath, and let the tip of the pen make contact with the paper. I pictured the man who had been sitting across from me for the last hour: skin like black liquorice, head shrunken, eyes yellowed and spilling down his face. He twitched with a nervous energy, as though there was a perpetual current of electricity running through him.

I opened my eyes and moved the pen—did not think—drew the curve of his cheek, the point of his chin, the rounding of his forehead—did not think—drew the line of his nose, the shells of his eyes, the wisp of his hair, which was growing, curling, lengthening right down to his shoulders and suddenly—

Round cheeks.

Slightly parted lips.

Clear, white skin.

Dead eyes.

I crumpled up the piece of paper as tears suddenly shot into my eyes, and as I fought to breathe I clenched my fists. Deep breaths, in and out, in and out, in and out.

Sara Anderson was dead.

" _Taylor and Anderson. You know, Justin, between the two of us, we've interchangeable with 0.622% of the population. That's, like, 150,000 people."_

" _Hey, at least you can get married and change your name."_

When Daphne had told me, I'd thought for a moment that maybe they'd gotten the wrong Sara Anderson. There were at least ten of them in Pittsburgh, last time we'd checked, and seven more Sara-with-an-H Andersons. Maybe it wasn't her. God, don't let it be her. Let it be a mistake, a misunderstanding, a joke—

But it had been my Sara Anderson. My Sara Anderson was dead.

We didn't know it, right away. She'd slipped, cracked her skull, and they thought that maybe if they held the skull together and gave her saline, electric pulses and CPR, she'd live. When Daphne and I had arrived, Cal had still been clinging to the hope that his daughter—our Sara Anderson—would be okay. He told me that she was going to be okay, and I felt a surge of hope and relief so powerful I went weak-kneed for a moment. Sara was back beyond the curtains where we couldn't see her, and I didn't know what was happening, but Cal stood there so sure and so proud, grandson asleep in his arms, how could I doubt him?

It had only been two hours ago that the doctor had appeared, and I learned the truth. Cal had denied it up until the doctor let us see her body.

I said goodbye to my Sara Anderson.

Luke woke up when he was transferred from Cal's arms and into mine. I took his arm and helped him wave goodbye to Mommy, feeling nothing more than muted shock.

Cal had lost it, then. He fell to the ground, screaming and raging, and I took Luke back to the waiting room before he started crying, too. Babies are so aware of people's emotions. Daphne was still there in the waiting room, tearful but ready, and she helped me distract myself with Luke until Cal appeared.

" _Please," Cal has said hoarsely, his arms reaching for his grandson. "Please, let me hold him. I need to be with Sara."_

So Cal had Luke. Daphne had gone home, although not before extracting a promise from me that I would call my parents. And I was sitting here in the waiting room, drawing pictures of my dead Sara Anderson.

It was almost nine, and I knew that I should call my parents.

But the memory of my mother in the car—the fact that she _knew_ , the way that her voice had shook—I couldn't face her. What if she'd told Dad? What if I wasn't allowed to come back home? What if they tried to put me in counseling, or send me away to one of those Jesus camps? What if they told Cal, and I wasn't allowed to see Luke anymore? What if—

"Justin?"

I started so badly, I dropped the pen I'd been clenching in my fist.

Brian stood before me, eyebrow raised.

For a moment, I thought that somehow, he'd felt my pain and come running to my side—he was going to take me back to his loft, let me stay with him and protect my from my parents and love me forever—and then I remembered that Ted was in the hospital.

Brian hadn't come here for me. He didn't love me.

But it had to mean something, that he had actually stopped and spoken to me instead of walking on by and going to Babylon. Right?

"H—hi," I said. My voice caught a little. Thank god I hadn't been crying. With my complexion, it takes ages to get rid of the puffy-eyed, tearstained look.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Brian asked, tone less harsh than his words. "You didn't come here for Ted, did you?"

I shook my head. "No. Just—just a—" My throat closed up and I blinked furiously. "Just a friend."

"Oh," Brian said. Now he looked awkward.

Brian didn't love me. I wanted him to. I wanted him to love me for these five minutes, just long enough for him to gather me into his arms and let me sob into his shoulder; I wanted it so badly it almost _hurt_. But I knew I couldn't have it, because Brian didn't love me.

But he did love to fuck me.

I abandoned the pen and paper and pushed myself out of the chair. "Help me find the bathroom?"

His other eyebrow shot up.

Lowering my voice, I added, "I want to give my ass a real reason to be sore, not just from sitting in these fucking chairs." And I bit my lip, grinning a little and looking up at him through the fringe of my hair.

It wasn't great, but it made something flash in Brian's eyes and I knew that I had him.

Excitement surged through my veins.

"Follow me," Brian muttered, and a split second later I was scrambling to keep up. He led me down the hallway, hands jammed in his pockets, saying nothing until he made an abrupt left and pushed open the door to the men's room. Then he shoved me into the first stall and growled at me to lock the door.

I was still feeling excitement, but it was now laced with desire, with _need._ I needed Brian. I needed him to fill me, trap me, push me over the edge, make me forget my name. Sara's name. Sara's face.

He shoved me against the metal wall, his mouth coming down over mine and claiming it. I kissed back furiously, pushing my tongue into his mouth and pulling at his hair, my entire body suddenly taut and hard. I wanted him to pull my hair and I pulled his harder, digging my fingers in and twisting and yanking, all the while drowning in his kiss. I wanted pain. I wanted sharp, needling pain, burning pain, stabbing, ripping, heart-stopping pain.

With a hiss, Brian drew back. His eyes were glittering with a combination of rage and lust that meant nothing good for me.

I shivered.

"Little shit," Brian hissed, spinning me around and grabbing my wrists, forcing them above my head. My face was mashed against the cold metal. "You think you're in control? You think you can _hurt me?_ "

"N—no."

My pants were pulled down before I knew what was happening, and I gasped as Brian's teeth bit down on the back of my neck. He sucked and nipped and sucked and nipped, sending bursts of pleasure and pain down my spine, and I writhed in ecstasy. My cock was already hard and trapped between the freezing metal of the wall and my belly. It was like a sheet of ice, burning the sensitive flesh and sending shockwaves of sensation straight to my pelvis. I opened my mouth, but I couldn't breathe.

And then, with no warning, Brian's finger was in my ass and I suddenly found my voice.

"Aaargh!" I yelled, pressing the length of my body against the metal wall, trying to escape the burn of the intrusion. Tears pricked my eyes and I gasped for breath. My cock throbbed.

"No lube, princess," Brian whispered into my ear. The hand trapping my wrists shifted, adjusting the angle slightly. "Deal with it."

His finger twisted and I arched, gasping.

"Make it hurt," I panted against the metal wall. "I wanna hurt."

"Didn't know you were so kinky, Sunshine," Brian said into my ear, jamming another finger in.

I let out a ragged noise, something close to a sob, and the tears spilled over. Brian's fingers worked inside of me, stretching and tearing as they went, and I couldn't push myself any farther against the wall if I tried. My cock, still burning against the metal of the wall, was beginning to ache with more than just desire. I longed to reach down and pull it free, slide my hand around it and squeeze, pull, give it some relief, but my wrists were trapped. Desperate, I shoved myself against the wall with renewed vigor. There was nothing else I could do.

The sound of foil ripping hit my ears, and fear lurched in the pit of my stomach. I wasn't ready, I wasn't ready, I couldn't take him—

"Ready?" Brian asked.

"Yes," I whispered, tears pouring down my face.

And then he was there, pushing inside of me.

"Ah—ah—ah—"

I struggled not to cry out, but every inch he put in seemed to rip right through me. My body jerked in protest, and a sudden liquid warmth on my stomach told me that my cock was more than willing to take this agony. But it hurt. I was alive and being pulled apart with pain, and by the time Brian was all the way in, I was seeing black spots.

"Fuck me," I breathed, barely able to put any air into the words.

Brian drew out a little, tightening his grip on my wrists, and then he slammed back in.

I screamed.

He thrust again, but this time he changed his angle and there was an explosion of pleasure laced with pain. I gasped and arched, throwing my head back and pushing down, down, down, forcing him deeper and harder against me.

And then he was hitting that spot again and again, driving into it, and I moved with him desperately. I was lost in a haze of agony and pleasure. I could only see dancing black spots, could only hear his ragged breathing. It was only his hand around my wrists that was keeping me from sliding to the ground.

"Harder." It was the only word coming to mind, the only word that made sense. "Harder, harder, harder."

Brian buried his face in my hair. "Fucking slut. Listen to you beg, all hot and needy and tight—"

Then suddenly, his teeth clamped down on my hair and he _pulled._

Brian's name was lost in a rush of sounds that escaped my mouth. Sharp, needling pain drove into my skull, and then he thrust into me again and the explosion of pleasure, the fierce ache of my cock, the feeling of Brian's tongue running down my neck and onto my shoulder—my balls tightened, my ass clenched down on Brian's cock, the world went completely black, and I came. Hard.

A strangled yell and a pulsing sensation in my ass seconds later told me that Brian was coming, and I slumped against the wall as his cock pulsed one last time.

Brian slumped against me, releasing my wrists.

I became abruptly aware of how quiet the bathroom was, how loud the sound of my breathing was off of the white tiles. Tears were still running down my face. I couldn't bring myself to care.

Gentle, now, Brian slid out of me with one hand placed on my back. I heard him tie off the condom and then felt both of his hands on my shoulders. "That was hot," he murmured into my ear.

I drew in a ragged, shuddering breath. Euphoria was still making my head spin.

Brian paused, and then he grabbed my face and twisted it so that he could see.

I stared back.

His confusion morphed into horror as he took in my face. "Justin—"

"I'm okay," I interrupted. My voice shook. "It's not—I wanted it like that."

Brian's eyes flashed. "Don't you fucking lie to me—"

"I'm not lying," I said stubbornly, and I wasn't.

I felt free.

The ache in my shoulders, the stinging pain in my ass, the dull throb at the back of my head—they hurt in all the right ways. I needed to cry. The muted shock from before was gone, and the roar of grief that was beginning to form a chasm in my chest was a welcome replacement. I was feeling again. I was an artist. I needed to feel. If I couldn't feel, then I couldn't draw.

"I shouldn't have been so rough," Brian said at length, not looking me in the eye. He grabbed the condom and unlocked the stall door, letting himself out.

I pulled my pants up, ignoring the stabbing pains that shot up my spine as I bent over.

"I wanted it rough," I said stubbornly. I sniffled, grabbed a strip of toilet paper, and blew my nose. With the absence of overwhelming sensation, my tears were finally slowing.

Brian was washing his hands. "What the fuck ever."

"No," I insisted, grabbing his arm. " _Not_ what the fuck ever. I needed it. I needed you."

Brian shook me off.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror before following him out. I looked like a wreck, but I figured that it was a pretty appropriate state for me to be in. At least my eyes didn't look dead anymore. Like Sara Anderson.

"How's Ted?" I asked, as I caught up with him. Walking hurt like a bitch, but it got a little easier with every step.

"He's awake," Brian said shortly. "Shouldn't you be with your friend?"

The pain tore into my chest, and I couldn't breathe for a second. "I—I can't."

I thought about telling him that Sara Anderson was dead, but I knew that Brian wouldn't care. It would only make him push me away more, because dead friends were not attractive on horny bubble-butt twinks.

"I'm going to Babylon," Brian said, as we approached the waiting room where he'd found me. "You should—"

He stopped himself.

"What?" I asked.

"Pick up some cream for your ass. You remember what I have at the loft?"

I nodded.

"Use that. Twice a day. If you're not feeling better by tomorrow evening, you'll need to see a doctor to make sure there's no tearing."

I tried to lighten the mood. "You know, one of the most recent treatments for an anal fissure is to inject Botox into the patient's anus?"

Brian's eyes went to my ass, and I could almost see him speculating. "I don't think that's really necessary."

I grinned.

"See you around, Sunshine."

I watched him walk away, and the grin faded a little because Sara Anderson was still dead, and no amount of fucking would change that.

 

I found Cal in a chair just outside of the ICU. Luke was asleep in his arms again.

"Hey," I said softly.

Slowly, he raised his head. "Justin."

"I—"

I stopped, not sure what to say.

"She's dead," Cal said, his voice hollow. "My Sara is dead. I'm alone."

"You've got Luke," I said. I felt emotion rising up inside of me, no longer screened by shock. Brian had fucked the shock right out of me. "And you've got me."

Cal slowly shook his head, eyes going to the wall across from him.

"Mr. Anderson—"

He stood up. "I need to leave."

My eyes immediately went to Luke, and I felt a flash of despair. "You can't—"

"Take him," Cal said, thrusting Luke at me.

Luke's eyes cracked open and he began to twist in midair, and I quickly took him before his whine could build into a full-blown sob. Luke hated being dangled. His whine petered out as I got a hand under his butt, the other one on his back, and he was asleep against my chest almost instantly.

I looked up, and Cal was depositing the diaper bag at my feet. "He's your son. He can't be mine. Sara was all I had."

And I watched, feeling the shock descend over me again, as Cal walked away from his only grandson without looking back.

 

I had to call my parents. It was past ten, and my mother was probably freaking the fuck out.

 

We didn't have a car seat in my dad's car, so I held Luke on the way home. He was still asleep—he'd been sleeping through the night for almost five months, now. Daphne and I had fed him in the waiting room around seven, so that should have been enough to hold him through the night. I hoped it was. Exhaustion was starting to settle in, over the pain in my ass and shoulders (I made a note to pick up cream tomorrow morning, because there was no way I was getting it tonight), and I wanted to sleep. And dream of Brian.

"You realize that Luke is going back to Cal, right, Justin?" Dad said, from up front.

"Craig," my mother admonished softly.

I said nothing.

"Luke doesn't have to sleep in my room, right?" Molly asked. "'Cause he's not allowed in there. It's for girls only."

She was cranky because it was past her bedtime. And it was funny, because before Luke, I wouldn't have known that.

"Use your indoor voice, Molly," Mom said gently, turning around in her seat. "Luke's sleeping."

"He's sleeping with me, anyway," I said. For some reason, the thought of him in another room—

I knew that I wasn't going to raise him. But I was his father, and Sara was dead, and Brian didn't love me, and Cal had walked away. I needed Luke with me tonight.

"I think we still have the crib up in the attic," Mom said quietly. "I'll bring it down tonight."

"He's not staying, Jennifer," Dad cut in sharply. "He's going back to Cal Anderson in the morning."

"Luke's only eight months old, Craig," Mom returned, her voice cool. "He needs a crib to sleep in."

Dad said nothing. We turned onto our street.

When we pulled into the drive, Dad was the first one out. He slammed the door of the car shut and stormed off to the house.

"Is Daddy mad?" Molly asked.

"He's just upset, sweetheart," Mom said, unbuckling her seat belt. "Go get your pajamas, and don't forget to—"

"Brush my teeth," Molly interrupted, rolling her eyes. "I know, Mom. I'm not a baby like Luke. I'm almost _nine_."

I slipped the diaper bag over my shoulder and, careful not to jostle Luke too much, slid out of the car. Molly ran ahead into the house, yelling that the last one in was a rotten egg. She'd always had this amazing ability to not recognize when tensions were running high. Probably, she couldn't even comprehend the idea of death, or maybe she just didn't miss Sara. She never really knew her. God knew she'd never been allowed over the house.

"Justin?"

Mom's voice broke my thoughts, and I gave her a faint smile before heading up the path to the door. I didn't think that she told Dad what she knew. Or hell, maybe Dad was just being nice because Sara was dead.

But then again, Dad hadn't been what you would call _nice_ tonight.

"Go upstairs and get into your pajamas," Mom said quietly. "As soon as I'm done tucking Molly in, I'll get the crib and we can set it up."

She put a hand on my shoulder, the one that ached particularly because of earlier with Brian in the bathroom, and also because that was the arm that I was using to carry most of Luke's weight. I wondered if she was purposely forgetting the fact that I was gay, and I wanted to bring it up. I wanted to shove it in her face. But I was tired and hurting and anyway, it would wake Luke up and that was the _last_ thing I wanted. So instead I just shrugged her hand off and headed upstairs.

 

The crib still had pink and purple frills on it, from when Molly had had been sleeping in it. Fortunately, it required a hammer to reassemble, so Mom just brought down the collapsible bassinet instead.

"Your father isn't mad at you," Mom said, as she pushed the holders into place, insuring that Luke wouldn't be crushed while he slept. "He just—he deals with anger better than anything else."

"I know," I said quietly.

It wasn't true, of course. But it was what Mom had been telling me ever since Dad had first blown up at me, when he heard that Sara didn't want to have an abortion.

"There. And here's a—"

"His blanket's in the diaper bag," I interrupted. I inhaled, exhaled. "Sara says—Sara said that he sleeps with it every night."

Mom paused, and then nodded, unzipping the diaper bag. "Well, then, that's what he'll have."

I laid him down in the bassinet, and tried not to think about how soft and cushy the mattress was. Firm mattresses had been shown to decrease the risk of SIDS. And bassinets really weren't meant to be used beyond the age of four months, or really, as soon as the baby could roll over, because a bassinet typically wasn't stable enough—

"He'll be fine for one night, Justin," Mom said, laying a hand on my shoulder.

I shook her off, tearing my eyes away from Luke. I knew I was being stupid.

I sat down on my bed (my ass protested, but I was too tired to care) as Mom laid the blanked over Luke. I was done. I had no idea what was going to happen tomorrow, and I didn't have the energy to worry about it.

"I'll call St. James tomorrow and let them know that you're not coming in," Mom said, sitting down next to me. "We'll figure this all out in the morning, okay?"

I nodded. I closed my eyes and let myself lean closer to her, laying my head on her shoulder and trying to seek comfort.

Her hand came up and stroked the side of my head as I inhaled her scent, and it was _wrong_. I didn't want my Mom. I wanted Brian. I wanted the smell of cigarettes and sweat and sex, and I wanted his hands running through my hair, his strong arms around me—

The unfairness of it all rose a sob in my throat, and I jerked away from Mom.

"I wanna be alone," I whispered.

Mom was quiet for a moment, and then she pressed a kiss to the side of my head. "Okay. If you need anything, Justin—if you want to talk, or cry, or watch Yellow Submarine, just come and get me. I don't care what time it is."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

She left, leaving the door cracked open, and I shoved my face into my pillow to muffle my sobs.

  
Luke was up at six, demanding a diaper change, and I had done it enough times that I was able to stumble through it half-asleep. I thought about leaving the dirty diaper on the counter, just to gross Molly out, but then I remembered that Sara was dead, and I just dropped the diaper in the trashcan. I put Luke back in the bassinet with a toy cell phone he loved to slobber on, and lay back down on my bed. Luke was gurgling happily when I fell back asleep.

 

I was woken up around eight by Luke's whimpering, but this time I knew he was hungry. I'd never done a morning feeding before, but a few of the times that I'd gone over to Sara's in the morning, I'd been early enough to catch Luke with oatmeal smeared all over his face. So... breakfast. I'd have to see what was in the diaper bag and what I could scrounge up in the kitchen.

"Hey, little man," I whispered as I lifted Luke out of the bassinet. I winced at the twinges up pain from my ass, but it was a major improvement from last night.

Luke's face crumpled upon seeing me. He was probably expecting Sara.

"Sorry, dude," I said, swallowing. "You're stuck with me."

Luke continued to cry as I picked up the diaper bag, but he calmed down a little when I bounced him lightly. By the time I got down to the kitchen, we were only dealing with a few residual sniffles.

There was a high chair at the table, and Mom was whisking batter in a bowl.

"Is Dad at work?" I asked.

Mom nodded. "He's going to stop by Mr. Anderson's house on his lunch break. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. C'mon, dude, let's get you in your high chair. Look, it's got Care Bears on it. I bet you don't know who they are. They were old when I was your age."

Luke settled into the high chair well, and I decided to check out the diaper bag.

"We have Cheerios," Mom offered. "Does he eat those? He's eating solid food, right?"

I nodded. "Breakfast is usually formula, oatmeal, bananas, and a little bit of yogurt. Sara switched out the oatmeal for Cheerios, sometimes, and he was fine with it." There wasn't any yogurt in the bag, but there was a banana and some formula.

"He looks just like you, when you were a baby," Mom said, with more than a trace of nostalgia.

Luke had the same white-blonde hair that I'd had at his age, but his eyes were a gray-green color, not blue. He didn't have any other distinct qualities, as far as Sara or I could tell—there was no, "Oh, he has your nose," or "Look, he got your chin,". Luke looked like a baby. That was about it.

"Cal's gonna raise him," I said, although I wasn't sure if I was reminding my mother or myself. I busied myself preparing the formula.

"Someone's going to have to do it," Mom said.

Someone that wasn't me.

 

This all changed, however, when Dad came home a little after noon. Luke and I were playing a game where he threw his little stuffed hippo and then giggled as I retrieved it for him, and Mom was sorting laundry.

"Cal Anderson is gone," he said flatly, staring at me as though it was my fault.

Luke's hippo went sailing past me as I stared.

"What do you mean, Craig?" Mom asked, ever unflappable.

"I mean, he's gone," Dad said. "He didn't show up for work, won't answer his phone, and the house is dark and closed up. I don't know where the hell he is."

He was still glaring at me.

"You think I do?" I asked incredulously.

Luke got impatient and began making agitated noises, and I quickly leaned over and picked up his hippo.

"Well, he'll be back, of course," Mom said reasonably. "I'm sure he just needs some time."

"And what? We're left raising his kid until then?" Dad demanded.

"He's _my_ kid," I threw in, my irritation rising.

Dad glanced at me. "You're seventeen, Justin. You can't raise a child."

"Sara was doing it," I said stubbornly, although I wasn't sure why I was arguing. I knew as well as Mom and Dad did that I couldn't keep him. I had a whole life in front of me—college, art, Brian—and I couldn't give that up.

"I'm sure Cal will be back," Mom said soothingly, crossing the room to rub my father's shoulders.

"We're not raising his kid," Dad said again, glaring at Luke, now. "We'll give him a week, and then the kid goes up for adoption."

My head snapped up. " _What?_ "

"What else are we going to do with him?" Dad asked, gesturing at Luke impatiently. "I'm not raising him. _You_ certainly aren't raising him."

My mouth dropped open, and I had to fight back the tears that sprang to my eyes.

"Craig, I don't think—"

"That's fucked," I choked out, and both of my parents stared at me in shock.

"You watch your mouth," Dad warned.

I swallowed, anger overtaking my hurt. "I'm not sending him off to live with some strangers—he's _my_ son, and if I have to raise him, then I'll do it! I'll drop out of school! I don't care! I—"

Luke began to wail, and I realized that I was shouting. I quickly lowered my voice, feeling vaguely embarrassed, and scooped him up. I glared at my father, who glared back.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, here," Mom said, sounding nervous. "We don't know that Cal isn't coming back."

"Luke isn't going up for adoption," I said quietly, rubbing his back. He was quieting again. I gave him a pacifier, and he sucked away happily.

Dad stared at me for a long moment, clearly restraining himself from saying a multitude of things, and finally he said, in a low voice, "While he's here, you're to keep him in your room. You'll feed him, change him, play with him, and you'll pay your mother to watch him while you're at school. Any time you want to go out, you're going to have to find a babysitter."

Anger pounded in my veins. "Fine."

"Raising a child is not something to be taken lightly," Dad went on, eying Luke. "Hopefully, by the time Cal comes back, you'll have realized that."

I glared.

He was partially right. Taking care of a baby was a huge time investment, one that I very nearly didn't have the ability to make, but I didn't care. Some instinct inside of me had awoken, filling me with a thrum of power and determination that I had never before known.

Luke was my son. No one was going to take him away from me.


	2. Stumble

  


**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 2: Stumble**

"So, do you think Cal's gonna come back?" Daphne asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. Probably. But the house was all closed up and everything, and you didn't see him at the hospital, when he handed me Luke... He looked like he'd been gutted of the will to live."

Daphne gave me a sidelong glance.

"Light's green," I told her. "What are you thinking?"

"I just—well." Daphne made a left turn into the parking lot of Walgreens, not looking at me. "I'm worried that Cal might have done something stupid. You know. Did you think about that?"

"You think he committed suicide?" I asked. My stomach turned—the thought had not occurred to me.

She shrugged. "Why not? It makes sense, with him not showing up for work and the house being all dark and locked up and stuff."

"He wouldn't." I couldn't help the uncertainty that crept into my voice.

"That would be kind of stupidly dramatic," Daphne agreed, but I knew that part of her was suppressing the urge to say how cool it would be to discover a dead body. "What do we need here, anyway? You said you'd tell me when we were out of the house."

We were out on an errand to get Luke's car seat out of Sara's car; Mom had given Molly's away years ago and I had told her that I had a spare key to Sara's car. She had agreed to watch Luke, since I couldn't exactly take him with me without the car seat. I had privately requested a side trip to Walgreens, when Daphne had arrived.

"I saw Brian last night at the hospital," I told her as she put the car in park and killed the engine. "We fucked in a bathroom stall. It was rough. Hot, but rough."

"You had  _sex_  in the hospital last night!" Daphne all but squawked.

I frowned, starting to get out of the car. "Yeah. Look, anyway, I need some cream for my ass, so—"

"Justin," Daphne said flatly, grabbing my arm.

Whatever shit she'd been holding back on my account before, I knew that she wasn't going to spare me here.

"Did you ask him to make it rough?" she asked, deadly serious.

My eyes widened. "Are you fucking kidding me? Are you asking if Brian  _raped_  me? That's bullshit, Daph!"

Her grip tightened. "That's not what I was asking. Justin, you know that using sex as a coping method isn't healthy, right?"

"It helped," I snapped, trying to pull away, but Daphne had a firm grip. "Anyway, it's not like I'm going to have time to go out and get fucked whenever I want to. I've got to stay home with Luke, now. So fuck off."

"Don't yell at me," Daphne said coolly. "I'm the one giving you a ride to the pharmacy so you can pick up cream to heal yourself because you went on a self-destructive spree last night."

Abruptly, I wanted to burst into tears, which was stupid, but knowing that I was being stupid only made it worse. My throat tightened and I fought down a sob.

I forced myself to take in a deep breath, close my eyes and count to ten. I was okay. Sara was dead, but Luke and I were alive, and even though Cal might be lying in a pool of his own vomit on the—Jesus, no, don't think about that. Not right now. You're okay, Luke is okay, and that's what matters. Sara is dead. You're dealing with that. Don't start crying in front of Daphne. You're stronger than that.

Taking in another deep breath, the tears all but gone, I reconciled myself with Daphne's words.

She was wrong. Last night, I hadn't been self-destructive, I'd been healing myself. Dealing with my grief. Dealing with the fact that my mother knew I was gay and my son's mother and primary caretaker had died. It had been so spontaneous and painful and good—so in the moment. It had been what I'd needed, and Brian had given it to me.

"It won't happen again," I finally said, my voice even. I was feeling calm again. "I was just... dealing in the moment, okay? That was what I needed then. I got it. I don't need it anymore."

Daphne didn't look happy, but she let my arm go. "Does Brian know that?"

I nodded. "Yeah. He was kind of freaked afterward. He made me promise to pick up this cream, and to see a doctor if I'm still in pain by tonight."

Well, he hadn't made me promise, but it sounded a little more romantic than: "He gruffly reminded me".

"All right," she said warily. "Let's go get this cream of yours."

Relieved, I climbed out of the car, wincing as my ass twinged.

I was subdued as we went inside, and didn't even make a face when Daphne took a detour to the tampon aisle before we paid. I let her put an arm around my waist as we left, and when I leaned in to kiss the side of her head, I was surprised to find myself not wishing that she was Brian as I had with Mom last night. Daphne was Daphne, and I'd never want to replace her.

 

"Do you think you're going to be okay, going to the house?" Daphne asked.

"I don't know," I said, shaking my head. The grief seemed so much less raw than it had last night, but it was still present, and the thought of going into Sara's house and seeing her room, seeing Luke's corner, which was practically covered in sketches of everything I'd ever associated with him... "I mean, Sara and I weren't really close. It was just Luke, and before him, we barely knew each other. The only reason we slept together was because she thought she might be a lesbian, and I thought I might be gay."

Daphne smirked. "And we know how that went."

The failed dyke and the reaffirmed faggot. That had made for a few awkward weeks.

The thought of those weeks, more than a year and a half ago, made a sudden sob rise up in my throat, and I struggled to get myself under control.

"Justin?" Daphne asked gently.

I fought to get myself under control, but I was babbling before I could stop myself. "It's just—I wish that she was still _here_. I wish that she'd been able to raise Luke and see him take his first steps and talk and color, and I wish that she'd been able to meet a really amazing guy who'd love her and love Luke, and she's never gonna get that now."

Daphne slowed the car to a stop on the side of the road.

"Shit," I said, wiping desperately at my eyes. "I'm crying like a stupid little faggot. Shit. Keep driving, Daph, I'm fine."

Daphne made no move to start the car.

It was quiet.

"It's just not fair!" I burst out, slamming my hand down on the armrest. "It's not fucking  _fair_. Why did she have to die?"

"I don't know," Daphne said, taking my hand and rubbing it. "I don't know why."

"It's not even that I miss her," I said miserably, the battle against my tears almost too much. "She was this passing presence, in the background—and it sounds horrible, but I don't miss her. I didn't love her. She was a homebody who didn't do anything but read and surf the internet." I was horrified by the things coming out of my mouth, but couldn't seem to stop. "She was so caught up in her fantasy novels and her role-playing whatever the fuck that she never wanted to face the real world. She thought she could just write a story about dragons, and  _poof_ , all better now. She lived in denial. She self-indulged in immaturity. I didn't even  _like_  her, Daph."

Daphne exhaled slowly.

I sought her eyes desperately. "Why does it hurt this much?"

"Because you feel, Justin," Daphne said, squeezing my hand.

"That's fucked," I whispered.

"You're hurting because, even if you didn't like her and you didn't love her, she still played an important part in your life. And you'll never have that again. Luke's never gonna have that again, and he's too little to grieve, so you've gotta do it for him. And—" Daphne hesitated. "Well, I think you have a little misplaced guilt about getting Sara pregnant in the first place. I think that you were hoping that if she graduated and got married and lived happily ever after, you'd be absolved of that, and now you'll never have that chance."

I nodded, swallowing again. My throat was still tight, and I didn't dare attempt speech.

"It's okay to cry," Daphne added softly.

I shook my head. I inhaled as best I could, forcing my emotions down. "I know. But I don't need to. Right now, we need to get Luke's car seat and shit, and get back home before my father pitches a fit."

Daphne studied me for a moment, and then nodded. "Okay, Justin."

 

I had conveniently forgotten to mention that I had a spare key to the house as well as a spare key to Sara's car, so I was able to determine for myself that Cal was actually not home, and that he hadn't killed himself in a fit of misery (at least, not in his house). His bedroom was in disarray, and when I opened the door to his mostly-emptied closet, I knew with heart-sinking certainty that Cal was not coming back for a while. So I grabbed boxes of formula, Luke's toys, the half-empty pack of diapers, and assorted other things that I wanted him to have, and loaded it up around the car seat.

"If Cal doesn't come back, do you think I could just take Sara's car?" I asked, as we were pulling out of the driveway.

Daphne swatted me. "Justin!"

We drove to my house in silence, and when we arrived Daphne helped me haul everything into the house. Luke was crying.

"What's wrong?" I asked, poking my head into the family room.

Dad looked up mid-pace, a squalling Luke in his arms, and he looked nothing short of pissed. "Where the hell have you been?"

"What did you do to him?" I demanded.

"Take him." Dad stalked over, Luke thrust out in my direction. His wails got louder as he twisted in midair, arms and legs flailing frantically.

"Don't!" I snatched him up, quickly getting a hand under his bottom. "He doesn't like being dangled."

"I asked you a question, Justin," Dad reminded me, tone three cents sharp of in-control. He handed me an abandoned pacifier. "I expect you to answer."

"I was out with Daphne, picking up his car seat, Mom said it was okay," I said, while rubbing a hand up and down Luke's back and gently bouncing him. He seemed to be calming down, marginally. "Where did Mom go?"

"She had a PTA meeting for your sister. Why does it take you an hour and a half to fetch a car seat?"

Oh, shit. Had it really taken that long?

"Justin?"

I turned around and found Daphne standing in the entrance to the family room, looking nervous. I attempted a smile. "Thanks for the help, Daph. I'll see you later."

"All right. Bye, Mr. Taylor."

Dad inclined his head.

I turned my attention to Luke, who hadn't stopped crying. I tried to get him to take his pacifier, but he wasn't having it. "Did you check his diaper?"

"Clean," my father said impatiently. "And your mother was feeding him an hour ago, when I got home."

"What was she feeding him?" I asked.

Dad shrugged. "Yogurt, some pears, mashed vegetables."

I frowned, continuing to rub circles onto Luke's back even though it had no apparent effect on him. He was still half-hysterical. "He's had all that before, so it can't be an allergic reaction, but—"

It dawned on me.

"He had too much yogurt," I said.

Dad raised an eyebrow.

"He's still adjusting to dairy—he can only take so much every day. Too much, and he gets a tummy ache."

"Wouldn't have happened if you'd been home."

I scowled. Luke continued to bawl loudly.

"Take him upstairs," Dad said, making a shooing motion. "I dealt with my screaming babies, and I'm not dealing with yours."

Inhaling, trying not to let the sudden wash of despair take over me, I slowly turned around and walked out of the family room.

I was two days behind on homework, had a sick baby to deal with, no way to pay for my mom to babysit him when I went back to school, and no way to see Brian again any time soon. Last night felt like a lifetime ago. As I carried Luke up the stairs and heard the sound of Molly's door slamming shut to ward off the sound of Luke's cries, I suddenly felt very, very alone.

 

I was in the middle of changing the second diarrhea diaper of the night when there was a knock at my door. Mom poked her head in.

"Hi, honey," she said, stepping in a shutting the door behind her.

Luke had stopped crying, although he was always happiest when there was no diaper on his bottom. He would fuss a bit when I put on a new one. But even though he'd stopped crying, I'd kept the door shut. It was more of a validation of my feelings of isolation, than anything.

"Your father told me what happened," Mom said softly. She sat down on the bed. "I'm so sorry, Justin. I didn't realize that he was still sensitive to dairy."

I shook my head. "It's okay. He's almost got it all out."

Probably one more diaper of diarrhea, and then I'd have to get him to drink water (Luke hated water, more than anything else in the world) because diarrhea meant dehydration, and that meant that he'd need to have his diaper changed around three in the morning, which meant that I wasn't going to get a full night's sleep unless I was really, really lucky and Luke decided to sleep in his soiled diaper.

But I didn't say any of that. It was, after all, my own fault.

I slid the new diaper under Luke, and predictably, his face scrunched up in protest. He started to roll over, off of the diaper, but I caught his shoulder and forced him back. "I don't think so, dude."

"You always hated diapers, too," Mom said, with fondness. "You were my little exhibitionist."

I thought about dancing at Babylon with my shirt off, about my two ventures into the backroom, and suppressed the urge to reply,  _Yeah, not much has changed._

"I'm sorry that Daphne and I took so long," I said instead, while I stuck on the straps of Luke's diaper. "We ended up talking."

Luke was deposited on the floor, where he immediately began dragging himself forward on his belly. Toward what, I don't know. He just liked to move around for the hell of it.

"Justin." Mom sounded pained.

I screwed on the cap to the diaper rash lotion and then turned to face her. I was determined that, no matter what came out of her mouth, I would not cry. I was feeling calm now, and I wanted to cling to that for as long as possible.

"Whatever your father may say, I understand that you're going through a lot right now, and I don't blame you for needing the support of your best friend. He's just too upset to see that right now. I'm sure he'll calm down in a few days."

"I went into their house," I blurted out suddenly.

Mom looked at me in surprise. "You have a key?"

I shook my head, definitely not wanting her to have that piece of information. "The neighbor let me in. I just wanted to make sure... you know... Mr. Anderson wasn't still there. And he wasn't."

Mom nodded.

"His clothes were all gone," I said. Part of me felt like I should be hysterical about this, but I felt calm. Rational. Steady. "Mom, I don't think he's going to be coming back soon."

Mom closed her eyes, pressing her lips together. "If it comes to that, Justin, we'll deal with it. Let's just take this one day at a time."

"I'm going to set up the crib," I told her. "It's not safe for him to be sleeping in a bassinet. And I grabbed a bunch of stuff from Mr. Anderson's house—Luke's stuff."

"Okay," Mom said, after an extended silence. She gave me a shaky smile. "You stay here with Luke, and I'll go get the crib. It's my third time around with this thing, so I think we might have it up by the end of the night."

I returned her shaky smile and watched her leave the room.

She didn't close the door behind her.

I plopped down on the floor and grabbed Luke's foot, dragging him back to me. Luke let out a loud giggle and immediately took off again, belly-crawling as fast as he could away from me. I let him get about two feet before I reached out and dragged him back, with a crowed, "Gotcha!"

Luke screeched with laughter and set off to escape.

I foiled his efforts again. "I got you again!" I declared, flipping him over onto his belly and then leaning over to rub my nose against his. "You'll never escape me, little monster!"

"You're such a freak," Molly declared as she walked past my door.

I grinned down at Luke, who was still laughing. Fuck 'em all.

 

I didn't go to school the following day, either. I had only stayed home from school to help with Luke once, when Sara had been sick and her father hadn't been able to take off work, but that had been almost five months ago. All I had known about Luke's schedule was what I had gathered from Sara talking, so things had been a little rough yesterday, but today went smoother. So smoothly, in fact, that Mom felt compelled to use the time during Luke's afternoon nap to bring up a few unpleasant topics I'd been avoiding.

"Justin," she said haltingly.

I looked up from my copy of  _As I Lay Dying_. I was attempting to get caught up on my homework, with little success. The book was absolutely wretched. "Hm?"

She sat down opposite me. "I was just thinking—you know, with Mr. Anderson gone, what about Sara's funeral? Do you know what's going on with that?"

I inhaled sharply, but the pain that lanced me though the chest was bearable now. I'd spent last night hearing Daphne's words over and over in my head, but it hadn't been senseless crying like the first night. Last night, I'd felt better afterward. I felt better today. And as my thoughts turned to Sara's funeral, I found myself able to push down my emotions and go through it rationally.

"I don't know," I said slowly, thinking aloud. "They don't have any extended family. Sara used to have a small circle of friends in drama club, and Mr. Anderson had a really good group of hunting buddies, but... There's no one, now, I guess. Just me and Luke. But she should have a burial, at least."

It cut me in new ways to realize that Sara would go into the ground with no memorial service, no family weeping at her grave, no pile of flowers on her burial site—she had nothing. No one.

But what else was there to do?

"I'll talk to your father about it," Mom finally said.

I nodded. Suddenly eager to read my book, I focused on the words before me, but I hadn't gotten through more than a sentence when Mom spoke again.

"Justin," she said again.

I exhaled and lowered my book. She looked even more reluctant.

"I hope you know that, despite what your father says, I'm not going to ask you to pay me to watch Luke while you go to school."

My mouth dropped open a little bit. "Oh."

"Anything other than school will be a different story," she warned, pointing a finger at me. "I won't become your personal babysitter—your father is right about that, Justin. If you want Luke, you're going to have to make sacrifices like any other parent. You can't go gallivanting off every night."

I nodded slowly, too surprised to protest her comments about my apparent gallivanting. I almost never saw my mother undermine my father—she'd talk to him, plead with him, and sometimes she'd be able to twist things in my favor a little, but very rarely did she get fed up with his stubbornness and simply go behind his back.

"And speaking of your gallivanting," she suddenly said, frowning. "I don't know what exactly you were up to these past few weeks, but I have a general idea and I don't like it."

My stomach dropped. "Mom—"

"Honey, I just think you're too young to be making these kinds of choices," Mom said reasonably. "Maybe you should talk to—"

"It's not a  _choice_ ," I said through clenched teeth. I slammed my book shut and stood up.

"Justin, please," she said, rising to her feet and reaching for me. "I only want to help."

I jerked away, heading for the hallway. "I don't need help, Mom. Just leave me alone."

"Justin. Justin, get back here!"

"Sorry, Mom, I have to go make poor life choices—oh, wait, too late! I already  _chose_  to be a fag!"

I heard my mother's gasp, and moments later, the sound of Luke crying from his crib.

Dammit.

 

I relayed the conversation to Daphne later that night, after giving Luke his bath (which had just been all kinds of fun—I mentioned that the kid hates water, right?).

"So you told her?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"Yep," I said proudly. "I said it."

"And then you ran away," Daphne pointed out dryly.

"I went upstairs," I corrected, frowning.

"What _ever_." I could hear her roll her eyes. "You can't just expect her to forget about it. Your Mom is ten kinds of over-involved in your life."

"She is not!" I insisted. "You remember Debbie Novotny? She hangs out in the same gay bars as her son just to bond with him— _that's_  over-involved."

"What do you think she's gonna do?" Daphne asked. "Your mom, I mean. Not Debbie Novotny."

I glanced down to where Luke was sort of commando-creeping his way around the floor. "You should see Luke right now," I said, unable to help the grin on my face. "He's the weirdest little dude—he can't crawl yet, but he's been dragging himself on his elbows, right? Today he's got this thing where he pushes himself forward with his leg, and then pulls himself forward with his arm. He's, like, slithering all over the floor."

"Justin, on track," Daphne said sternly.

I let out a breath of air. "Right. I mean, I don't know what she's gonna do. She says she wants to help me, but I don't think she'll tell my father, so... Maybe she'll just start slipping me Jesus pamphlets and buying me Pray Out the Gay books?"

"Your Mom's not really religious, though."

"Yeah. Well, apparently non-religious people can be homophobes, too," I sighed, sitting down on the floor next to Luke. I picked up the Fisher-Price ring stacker thing that every child in the world had to own, and dumped the rings on the floor.

Luke caught sight of the blue ring and made a few swipes at it before he finally got a hand on it and dragged it towards himself. Unsurprisingly, he tried to put it in his mouth. The circumference of the ring was on par with that of his head, though, so he didn't get very much in there.

"Did I miss anything huge in school?" I asked, changing the subject. I stacked the remaining rings inversely, starting with the smallest and going up from there.

"Not really. It's homecoming next week, or some bullshit like that."

"Aw, you couldn't get a date?" I asked, with faux-sympathy.

"Well, there is one boy that I think I could put up with for the night..."

"Sorry," I said, knocking over my tower. "Luke's not allowed out past eight on school nights."

Daphne giggled. "I meant  _you_ , stupid."

"Sorry, Daph," I told her, my voice sobering a little as my heart sank. "I—there's just no way. I've got to stay home with Luke. Anyway, we went to homecoming last year and it blew."

Daphne was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, it did."

I swallowed, feeling guilty. To distract myself, I grabbed the yellow ring and placed it on top of Luke's head. It looked a bit like a halo.

Until Luke tilted his head and it fell off, of course. The new ring made him let out a string of babble as he abandoned the blue one and started slobbering all over the yellow one, instead. I grinned.

"But listen to you, Mr. Responsible!" Daphne said finally, surging right back to her normal, bouncy self. "Maybe we could make a night of it at your house or something, instead. We can watch that really gross musical Alice in Wonderland porn from the seventies!"

I wrinkled my nose. "Ew. I don't wanna look at pussy."

"But it's a musical, all gay men like musicals," Daphne said dismissively. "Besides, it would be weird if we watched porn that you did like."

"We'll talk about it," I finally allowed.

There was a pause.

"So, are you coming back to school tomorrow?"

"I think so."

"Well, tomorrow's Friday, so even if your day's really shitty, at least you'll have the weekend to recuperate."

I sighed. "If only recuperating consisted a lot more of getting laid, and a lot less of convincing Luke to try new foods."

"Poor baby," Daphne said sympathetically.

"I know," I moaned. "I was so horny this morning!"

"Ew—no, I meant Luke, doofus. The poor baby, having mushy squash and yams shoved down his throat all day. No wonder he doesn't want to try new stuff!"

Luke had abandoned the rings and slithered over to where I was sitting on the floor, and was attempting to climb up into my lap. I gave him a boost and let him sit belly-up on my lap.

"Screw you," I told her, but I was smiling.

"Does that mean that your ass cream worked?" Daphne asked. "You're all healed up and ready to go?"

"Yep!" I said brightly.

Luke had two of my fingers shoved in his mouth by this point, and was swiping at one of the cords from my hoodie with the hand that wasn't on my fingers.

"And your less-than-physical wounds?" Daphne ventured.

Luke let my fingers go, having gotten the cord to my hoodie in the fist, and he was now shoving that into his mouth.

"I think Luke has an oral fixation problem," I told her, wiping my slobbery fingers on his sleeper. "And yeah, I guess that's better, too. Mom and I talked about a burial today."

"Oh, right. She doesn't really have anyone, does she?"

I shook my head. "Not really. With Cal gone, it's just Luke."

"That's heartbreaking," Daphne said with a sigh. "God, Justin. Can you imagine being all alone in the world like that?"

I thought of earlier, but didn't say anything. "Will you come to the burial?" I asked instead.

"Of course!" Daphne sounded offended that I'd even asked.

"And we'll bring flowers," I said resolutely. "I don't want her to... be alone."

Luke had apparently found something that he didn't like about the taste of the cord because his fist came flailing out of his mouth and he let out a cry.

"Is that Luke?" Daphne asked.

"Yeah," I said, trapping the phone between my ear and shoulder and picking him up. "It's getting close to his bedtime, so he's probably just cranky. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure. See ya."

"Bye."

I let the phone drop and focused on Luke, who hadn't calmed down.

"Hey," I said softly, running a hand over his hair. "Hey, what's wrong? Are you being a drama queen?" I reached for the yellow ring he'd been occupied with earlier. "How about this, huh? You want this?"

I balanced it on his head for a moment, but Luke wasn't having it. His stuffed hippo produced a similar reaction. I checked his diaper, but it was clean.

"I think you're just being cranky," I told him, going for the pacifier. Luke immediately latched onto it, sucking at a furious pace.

I let out a sigh of relief. My son's oral fixation had been taken care of.

Too bad my own would have to wait a while.


	3. Balance

**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 3: Balance**

Two weeks later, Cal had still not returned. Sara had been buried and Luke had stopped crying every morning when it was me, not his mother, who lifted him out of his crib. My father was nothing short of incensed about the whole situation, and I therefore hadn't left the house for anything but school since Luke had arrived. I was ridiculously horny, but I couldn't leave the house because my father kept making noises about adoption and wringing Cal Anderson's neck for saddling him with a baby, so I resigned myself to jerking off during Luke's naps. It was a poor substitute.

This is the only reasonable excuse I can come up with for why I did what I did when Brian showed up at my school, almost three weeks after we'd fucked in the bathroom at the hospital.

I caught sight of him as soon as I pushed open the doors to leave, leaning against his jeep with his sunglasses. I stopped in my tracks, blinking.

"Justin?" Daphne asked, turning around to look at me.

"Brian's here," I said, staring. He hadn't yet noticed me.

"Oh my God." Daphne's mouth fell open into an astonished grin. "Oh my God, Justin, what do you think he wants?"

A shiver ran down my spine, unbidden, and when I looked up Brian was looking in my direction. The sunglasses made it impossible to see what he was looking at, but I knew that his eyes were focused on me.

"Wait for me, okay?" I asked, and I pressed a kiss to her cheek and took off before she could deny me. Excitement was thrumming in my veins—Brian was here! At my school!

I bounded down the stairs and across the lawn, stopping just short of running into Brian.

"Hey!" I said breathlessly, unable to contain the huge grin that had broken out on my face.

"So," Brian drawled, tipping his head forward so that his sunglasses slid down his nose slightly. "You  _are_  alive."

"Duh," I said happily, tugging at the lapel on his jacket. "What else would I be?"

"Well, we haven't seen you in three weeks," Brian told me with a casual shrug. "Debbie and Emmett were having a collective queen out. They were afraid you'd been sent to Jesus camp or something."

I couldn't stop grinning. Brian had been  _worried_  about me.

"Nope, no Jesus camp. Just family stuff. You know how it is. Anyway, they'd probably send me to military school, not Jesus camp."

"Uh-huh."

I nodded enthusiastically. Somewhere in the back of my head, a voice was telling me that I was acting like a puppy on crack, but after three weeks with no Brian, I couldn't control myself. I was just so goddamned  _happy_.

"And you, uh..." Brian cleared his throat. "You healed okay?"

"Of course. I used some cream and it was fine," I said, rolling my eyes. It was true. I hadn't had any lingering pain since I'd returned to school. But then I stopped, sobering a bit. "Anyway, I told you, I wanted it like that. I needed it. You really helped me."

"Aren't you a little young to be self-medicating with sex?" Brian asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing you haven't done before."

"I do  _so_  enjoy being a role model for gay younglings everywhere."

I was smug. "You know you do. The idea of plunging into a tight little virgin ass, corrupting today's youth..." I glanced up at him and licked my lips. "It totally makes you hard. I would know."

"Yeah, whatever," Brian said impatiently, shifting.

I glanced down at his pants, and my grin widened. "Oops. Sorry about that."

Brian cleared his throat. "Sorry's bullshit."

"Then let me make it up to you in another way," I said, closing the distance between us and fingering the top button of his jeans.

Brian stared down at me, somewhere between amused and disbelieving. "We're in your school parking lot. Surrounded by the straight, impressionable, virginal youth of upper class Pittsburgh."

I popped the button and slid my hand down his pants, leaning forward so that I was flush against him. "Should be even more of a turn-on, then."

The height difference between us worked in my favor, here, and I didn't have to lean down at all. His cock was ramrod straight when my hand closed around it, and I gave it two strokes before reaching down and running the base of my palm of the underside. Brian let out a choked noise and put his hands on my shoulders, clenching painfully. I grinned into his chest and did it once more, and then closed my hand around his cock again and, gripping from the base, corkscrewed my hand down his length. Brian's hips bucked against mine in response, and his fingers dug into my shoulders painfully.

He grunted something in my ear, but I didn't catch it and didn't really care what it was anyway. Pre-come was leaking down his cock, giving me a little lubricant to work with, and I pulled harder, tightening my hand as I went down his shaft. His breathing was hot in my ear, hips jerking in time with my hand, thrusting into my first, head tilted back.

I ran my fingers up the underside of his cock, and with a shudder and a stilted gasp, Brian came.

He fell back against the Jeep, panting, and I went with him, carefully sliding my hand out of his pants.

"You little shit," Brian said breathlessly, releasing my shoulders. "Do you know how much that pair of underwear cost?"

I pushed myself back and glanced down. "Probably less than your jeans." And then I wiped my hand on his thigh.

"What the  _fuck?_ " Brian all but yelped, leaping out of reach and then staring in horror at his pants.

I shrugged. "They're already ruined. And I needed to wipe my hand off on something."

"The next time I want a three hundred dollar hand job, I'll fucking pay for it in cash," Brian snarled, attempting to brush the wet stain off of his jeans. "Christ."

Like I was gonna apologize.

"Hey, Justin?"

I turned my head and saw Daphne coming down the sidewalk.

"If you want to be home before your dad, we've got to leave now," she said, jerking her thumb in the direction of her car.

"Brian, this is Daphne."

Brian gave me his extra special And I Care Why? expression, and I glared before turning back to Daphne.

"Daph, can you give me, like, two minutes?"

She shrugged. "I'm not the one who'll get yelled at."

I felt my face flush. Um, hello? Brian was standing right here, and raging fathers were so  _not cool_.

"That's all right, Daphne," Brian said sweetly, swinging into his Jeep. "I was just leaving."

"But—"

"And I want to see your ass out on Liberty Avenue this week," Brian declared, leveling a finger at me. "A young boy such as yourself needs a balanced diet of sucking, fucking and rimming in order to succeed in life."

"Uh. I'll try," I said, and then I kicked myself for sounding so lame. "I mean, yeah, definitely!"

Brian didn't reply, and I watched as he started the Jeep and then reversed out of the parking lot and into the street.

"Come  _on_ ," Daphne said, seizing my arm and pulling me away from where I'd been standing on the sidewalk, grinning like an idiot.

Now that Brian was gone, my brain was slowly coming back up to speed. Holy shit. I'd given Brian a hand job in my school parking lot—with, like, hundreds of breeders roaming around—and gotten away with it. Holy shit. I was getting hard just thinking about it.

I blinked and shook my head; Brian's parting statement came back to me.

"Hey, Daph?" I said slowly.

"What?"

"You don't have plans Friday night, right?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Is this a babysitting proposition?"

"Um. Maybe?"

"What's in it for me?"

"I'll give you all the juicy details," I offered, giving her a winning smile.

Daphne snorted. "Yeah, except you'd give me those anyway."

I racked my brain. "Um. I'll write you up a Cliff's Notes version of  _As I Lay Dying_ , chapter by chapter. By Monday."

Daphne's eyebrows shot up. "Deal."

"And you have to drive me to Liberty Avenue," I added in quickly.

"Still deal. If you measure my plants for that stupid AP bio project next week, I'll watch him next Friday, too."

I grinned. "I love you."

  


Luke had mastered the art of crawling last week, and with his newfound mobility he was dead set on the fact that he didn't want to be carried  _anywhere_. Ever. I managed to get him into Dad's study, but as soon as we were in I had to put him down because he was already well past whimpering.

"I'm going out tomorrow night," I announced, my eyes on Luke as he start crawling across the white carpeting.

"Excuse me?" Dad said, setting down his pen.

"I'm paying Daphne to babysit Luke while I go out tomorrow night," I said evenly. "I wanted you to know. And I wanted to ask if I could borrow your cell phone, in case Daphne needs to contact me."

"And where are you going to go?" Dad asked, raising an eyebrow. "You can't just take a break from being a parent whenever you're feeling too stressed, Justin—you signed up to be in it for the long haul, and that's what you've got to give."

"I'm going out," I repeated. Inwardly, I was seething, but I didn't want to yell. Not with Luke in the room. "I'm using a babysitter, just like you and Mom used to use when you went to the country club once a week."

Dad stared at me with a mixture of anger and surprise, but he didn't say anything. He seemed to be expecting me to take my words back.

"Can I please borrow your phone tomorrow night?" I asked again, struggling to keep my voice level.

"No, you may not," Dad said. "If you want a cell phone, you can get a job and pay for one."

I inhaled and exhaled three times before I managed a curt, "Thanks anyway."

I bent down and scooped up Luke, who burst into tears.

"Shut the door on your way out, please," Dad requested, and it took everything in me not to slam it as I did.

  


"He shouldn't give you any trouble tonight," I told Daphne, my eyes on Luke, who was strapped in his car seat with his pacifier, looking around with wide eyes. I'd read in a baby book that it was at the end of eight months that a baby's vision really sharpened to adult standards, and from the way Luke had been watching everything with a new attentiveness, I was willing to bet that he was seeing a lot clearer now. "He'll get cranky about twenty minutes before bed time, but he'll settle down really fast once you get him in the crib. And read to him for at least ten minutes before he goes to bed. He shouldn't wake up once he's down. Well, sometimes he wakes up around three, but he's been doing that less lately."

"Justin, I have babysat before," Daphne said. "Do we really have to do this stereotypical, overprotective father bit?"

I bit my lip. "No. It's just—I wish I had a phone with me so that you could get in contact with me if anything goes wrong."

"Do you know Brian's number?" Daphne asked. "I could call him if something comes up."

I didn't know if I'd end up with Brian tonight, although I was definitely planning on it. And anyway, even if I didn't end up with him, he'd find a way to track me down if it was an emergency. I knew he would.

"He didn't exactly give it to me," I said haltingly. "So, um... He might not be happy about that. And don't mention Luke, if you have to call—just say it's a family emergency."

"Whatever. There's pen and paper in the glove box."

I scribbled the number down and jammed it into Daphne's purse, which sat between the two front seats of the car.

"Drop me off on the next block," I told her, straightening. "I want to stop by the diner and talk to Debbie, if she's working tonight."

"Are you going to Babylon tonight?" Daphne asked.

I shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. Whatever happens, I'll be home before six. That's when Dad gets up to go golfing."

I felt a burst of righteous anger at the thought of my father—again. I'd been stewing over this since last night. I was all but paying for room and board at home, shunned to my room, and he thought that he could tell me what to do? Why did I have to sneak around, pretending to obey his rules, when he barely acknowledged me? Where did he get off, ordering me around?

A gurgle from the backseat pulled me out of my thoughts. Luke had spit out his pacifier, and though he'd managed to pick it up again, he couldn't work out how to put it back in his mouth. His arm swung around and he was making distressed sounds that were only increasing in volume.

"Are you being a drama queen?" I asked, reaching back and helping him guide the pacifier back into his mouth. "Look at you, making a big deal out of nothing. You just like the attention, don't you? See that? All better."

Luke sucked at his pacifier contentedly, eyes fixed on my face.

I felt a rise of guilt, all of a sudden.

"We're here," Daphne said as the car pulled to a stop.

I turned away from Luke to look at her, and then I looked back at him. "Maybe..."

"Justin," Daphne interrupted. "You deserve some free time. You haven't been out in three weeks! Just because you have Luke doesn't mean that you have to give up on Brian."

I exhaled. "Yeah."

She shoved me. "Go! Go get laid. Luke and I will be fine."

I hesitated, but then I remembered jerking Brian off in public the other day, in my school parking lot of all places, and then I knew Daphne was right. I loved Brian. I loved Luke. There was room for two men in my life, even if I had to claw out a space for them with my bare hands.

"Bye, Luke," I said, twisting around to face him one last time. I kissed two of my fingers, and then pressed them to Luke's cheek. "Daddy loves you."

"Do I get a kiss?" Daphne asked.

I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you. I mean it, Daph—you're the best friend a gay single teenage father could ask for."

She beamed.

I got out of the car and was tempted to watch her drive away, but I forced myself to keep walking down the block toward the diner. No guilt. Not tonight. Tonight was about me.

  


Debbie was working at the diner. I hadn't taken three steps inside the diner before I heard an excited "Sunshine!", and I couldn't stop the grin that broke on my face. It was nice to be greeted so enthusiastically by someone who wasn't Luke, for a change.

"Hi," I said, waving a little.

Debbie bustled over, tray balanced on one hand, and smacked me on the back of the head. "And where the hell have you been? I was worried sick about you!"

"Sorry?" I tried.

"Damn right you are," she declared, before steering me into a booth. "I told that asshole to check up on you last week, and I'd have done it myself if I didn't have to work all the fuckin' time."

It took me a moment to realize 'that asshole' actually meant Brian Kinney.

"I didn't mean to worry anyone," I said. "I was just busy with family stuff."

Debbie's eyes narrowed. "You come out to your parents, Sunshine?"

I shook my head. "No. Well. My mom knows, but she's pretending she doesn't. And there's no way I'm coming out to my dad—he'd shit a brick."

"Fuckin' asshole," Debbie said, while fondly patting my cheek. "Sunshine, don't you ever let anyone get in the way of what you want. You deserve to get your brains fucked out of you like any other horny kid your age—hell, with that ass, you were fuckin' made for it. Now, what'll it be?"

I flushed. "Thanks, Deb. But I can't really stay—I want to get to Woody's..."

She raised an eyebrow. "Looking for a certain someone?"

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?" I asked brightly.

Debbie clucked at me. "Honey, in Brian's case, I think the only thing he's ever going to be fond of is your absence. Get a different hang up. You deserve better."

"I can't think of anything better than Brian Kinney," I told her, and then I raised my eyebrows. "And half of Liberty Avenue agrees."

"Yeah, the half that he hasn't fucked," Debbie said, rolling her eyes.

But I was confident. Brian Kinney didn't do repeats—except he'd repeated me twice in the last month, and let me give him a hand job in the school parking lot. I was special.

I said goodbye to Debbie (who slapped my ass, shoved a lemon bar in my hand before I got out the door, and made me promise to call her if I ever needed to talk) and then headed down to Woody's. It was nearing Luke's bedtime, and he was probably giving Daphne a hard time with things right now. He was probably even more cranky than usual, because I wasn't there. He'd just gotten used to having me tuck him in at night instead of Sara, and now I'd gone and dumped him with someone he'd barely spent more than a few hours with.

"Stop it," I muttered, shaking my head. "He's fine. He'll see you in the morning."

I pushed all thoughts of Luke out of my head as I stepped into Woody's. Tonight was about me.

And I was in luck—I immediately spotted Emmett sitting at a table by himself, though there was a coat slung over the chair next to him, so he was probably with Ted or Michael. I bounded over, plunking down in the chair with the coat on it.

"Hey!"

"Justin!" Emmett practically squealed. He dove over the table to give me a huge hug, squeezing me tightly. "Oh, I was so worried about you, baby! Where did you go?"

"I had family stuff," I said dismissively. "Don't worry, I'm back now. What did I miss?"

Emmett snorted. "Absolutely nothing."

"Nuh-uh," I said, playfully hitting him on the shoulder. "I was gone for three weeks—something must have happened."

Emmett's eyes cast around the room for a moment, but I knew he'd given in. "Well... you didn't hear it from me, but—"

"Gossiping already?" a familiar voice asked from behind me. "I leave you alone for five minutes, and your self control is self-destructing already?"

I turned around to see Brian standing there, looking simultaneously well-fucked and amused.

"Who, me?" Emmett asked innocently.

Brian rolled his eyes, and upon making a complete circle they landed on me.

I grinned. "I'm here!"

"And sitting in my seat."

"What are you gonna do about it?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Brian smirked. Then he snagged my ear, pinching it hard, and dragged me up and out of the seat, ignoring my yelps of pain. Upon reclaiming his seat, I was released.

I glared, rubbing at my ear. "That hurt."

"Then don't write checks your tush can't cash," Brian said, unaffected.

"My tush," I said, "is my most valuable asset."

And then I sat down on his lap.

"Kiss it better," I demanded, angling my ear to his mouth while wriggling in his lap.

I felt his cock twitch under my ass, and he tried to shove me off but I managed to keep my position. With more wiggling. Brian was clearly not used to having to say no to his dick, and that was working in my favor.

"So what's the plan for tonight?" I asked, when Brian finally gave up on trying to toss me off. "Where's the rest of the gang?"

"Teddy doesn't do Liberty Avenue anymore," Emmett said wistfully. "He's still a little freaked about what happened. And Michael—"

"Michael is on a  _date_ ," Brian said disgustedly.

"That's, um, terrible?" I said hesitantly.

"Fucking hell, of course it is! They haven't even fucked yet."

"Oh." Well. That  _was_  terrible.

"Breeders and dykes go on dates," Brian said distastefully. "Fags  _fuck_. Dr. Dave and Mikey are kidding themselves with this fucking dog-and-pony show."

"Fucking is more fun than dating, anyway," I agreed, while privately thinking that without Michael standing around, breathing down Brian's neck and shooting me dirty looks, I had a much better shot at convincing Brian to fuck me tonight.

Brian, clearly pleased with me, bit down on my ear and tugged.

I grinned and shifted on his lap, which made his cock jump again.

Oh, yeah.

This was gonna be easy.

  


"You know what I think I'd be good at?" I asked, staring up at the ceiling.

There was no response from Brian, who was sprawled face-down over the mattress. I knew he was awake. Brian never went to sleep with cum stains on his chest.

I ignored his lack of response and went on. "Road head."

"Mm." Brian's head didn't come up, so the noise was muffled. "Probably."

"Let's go test that theory," I suggested.

Brian slowly rolled over so that he was on his back. Eyes closed, he gestured down with two fingers. "Go for it."

Laughing, I leaned over and kissed him. "No, I mean in the car. While you're driving. That's what road head is, jerk."

Brian did not look thrilled with me, and I quickly leaned in for another kiss.

"It would be hot," I promised, kissing him twice more and then letting my tongue trail down his neck to his chest. I started licking at the dried cum that was spattered across it. "You on the beltway doing 75, wind roaring in your ears, my throat swallowing your cock..."

"Yeah. Until I crash the car."

"You wouldn't," I said confidently.

Brian snorted, looking down at me with vaguely incredulous expression. "Is that right?"

"Unless you want to tell me that my ability to give head renders you  _that_  senseless."

"It might," Brian said, after a moment of consideration.

"But that's what would make it hot," I insisted, ignoring the burst of glee I felt at Brian's admission. I moved my tongue in circles around his right nipple, the cum long gone. "The risk. The thrill of not knowing."

"Except there would be no 'not knowing'." Brian sounded vaguely irritated now. "Because I  _know_  that if you blow me while I drive, it isn't going to end well."

But I was determined. "I need to try it sometime. And you're the best driver I know—you wouldn't let us crash. Would you rather I tried it on Emmett?"

"I'd rather you didn't give Emmett  _any_  kind of head."

I rolled my eyes. "That's not what I—"

"Christ! Will you drop it already?" Brian snapped, jerking away. He started pushing himself out of bed. "The answer is no. It might be a new concept, and I'm sure your parents never say it to you, but when I say no? It means I'm not fucking doing it!"

I gave him a sullen look. My plan to be sneaky down the drain, I tried blunt honesty instead.

"I need a ride home."

"In the morning," Brian said shortly, heading for the bathroom.

"It can't wait until then!" I clambered out after him. "I have to be home before my father gets up at six."

And for the record, I was  _not_  whining.

"What's Daddy gonna do if you're not home? Take away your trust fund? Be  _really disappointed in you?_ " Brian mocked. He was wetting a washcloth, and in the mirror, I could see his smirk.

That pissed me off.

"Fine. I'll just walk home," I decided. I marched back over to the bed and plucked my jeans off the ground.

"It's almost four in the morning."

"Well, you won't give me a ride." I shimmied into my jeans, thankful for the eighth time that night that I hadn't worn underwear, and then went for my shirt, which was on the complete opposite side of the bed. "And I've got to be home by six."

"Or what?" Brian asked.

"Or there'll be consequences," I snapped, thoughts of Luke suddenly springing up in my mind. Luke being taken away. Luke going up for adoption.

Shit, I really did have to get home.

I left the bedroom and walked over to the couch, where my jacket had been tossed when we'd first come into the loft. It would be a long walk home, but if I was fast, I could probably make it home on time. It was only a fifteen minute drive from the loft to the house, and that was with traffic, so if you figured an average speed of thirty-five miles per hour, that meant 8.75 miles, and if the average pedestrian walking speed was 4.25 miles per hour—

So I could probably make it. Under the assumption that the average walking speed was 4.25 miles per hour, because I was pulling that from a practice SAT problem I'd done a few days ago.

I was putting on my shoes when Brian suddenly spoke.

"For fuck's sake," he said loudly, stalking past me. He'd put on jeans. "You're not walking home."

I tried to suppress a tentative grin. "You're giving me a ride?"

"No." Brian plucked his wallet off the counter and pulled out two twenty dollar bills.

I frowned.

He handed me the money. "Here. Go hail a cab."

"But—"

"It's a five minute walk to Babylon. There're always cabs waiting outside the club around this time."

"Or you could give me a ride," I said hopefully, flashing him a Sunshine smile. "I live, like, fifteen minutes away. And then you'll know where I live, so you can stalk me whenever you want."

"If I wanted to stalk you—which, for the record, I don't _—_ I could look you up in the phone book."

"You don't know my father's name," I pointed out.

"Go hail a cab, little boy," Brian said patiently. "Go on. Get home before Daddy wakes up."

"You'll save thirty-nine dollars," I said, waving the money in his face.

"It only costs me a dollar to take you home?" Brian asked doubtfully, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded. "Provided that your Jeep gets seventeen miles to the gallon, and the price of gas is..."

I trailed off at the expression on his face.

Right. Math was not cool.

"And I'll blow you at a stop sign," I threw in. "I'll blow you at  _every_  stop sign."

Brian stared at me.

I held my breath.

And then he grabbed me by my hair and forced my down to me knees. "Suddenly, I'm seeing stop signs," he growled.

I bent my head down so that he wouldn't see my grin.

  


When Luke woke me up around eight, I found myself squished into my twin bed with Daphne, who was power-snoring in a way that made me pity her future husband. And children. And immediate neighbors. She was sleeping like the dead so I let her be and, after changing into a pair of cargo pants and a long-sleeved shirt, took Luke to get him breakfast.

"I think Daddy's gonna take a morning nap, too," I told him as we descended the staircase. I'd slipped into the house around five. "Daddy didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

Mom was, of course, already awake and doing the crossword puzzle. She offered morning pleasantries as I got Luke set up in his high chair. He got a handful of Cheerios while I started on his formula; Luke's coordination had been improving, and he was pretty good at feeding himself.

"So, where were you last night?" Mom asked.

I knew by her passive, would-be-casual tone that she was not happy with me. It was precisely why I had told Dad and not her.

"Out with some friends," I said lightly.

With the swipe of his hand, Luke sent half his Cheerios to the ground. He giggled.

I sighed. "See if I don't starve you to death, kid."

"Justin. You can't expect me to believe that, after twelve years, you've finally made a friend who isn't Daphne?"

Ouch.

"Does it matter what I was doing?" I asked, standing up and depositing the Cheerios into the trash can. The microwave dinged, and I went to get the formula.

"Were you with someone?" Mom pressed.

"Yes. Friends. I just told you that." I sat down next to Luke and offered the bottle.

Luke grabbed the bottle and started banging it vigorously. I quickly took it back and directed it to his mouth.

"I'm worried about you, Justin," Mom sighed, setting down her pen. "Even if you didn't have Luke, I'd be asking these questions. We used to be so close, and now I feel like I hardly know you!"

"It doesn't help that I'm shunned to my room whenever I'm home, does it?" I said moodily, watching Luke suck down his bottle. I wondered if giving head was a heritable trait, or if it was Mendelian. Or hell, maybe it wasn't genetic at all.

"I know your father hasn't made things easy for you..." Mom said haltingly.

I was silent, not taking my eyes off of Luke.

"I was thinking that maybe, if you talked to someone, it would help."

"A shrink?" I said disbelievingly.

"You've got to talk to someone, honey. It isn't healthy for you to be dealing with all this on your own."

"What, being a faggot?" I snapped. "Having a bastard child? Or having a total asshole for a father?"

Mom looked at me coolly. "Justin, I don't appreciate your attitude or your language. I'm only trying to help."

Luke, always aware of the emotional hue of the room, let the bottle fall and began to cry.

Then suddenly, Mom's eyes went behind me, and she pasted a smile on her face. "Good morning, Daphne."

"Morning, Mrs. Taylor," Daphne said politely, wandering into the kitchen in a sweater and shorts. She then, predictably, started cooing over the crying baby—trying to diffuse tension, no doubt. "What's the matter, Lukester? What's the matter with my Lukie Luke?"

"He's never going to learn his name if you keep mutating it," I said, for possibly the thousandth time.

"Is Daddy not feeding you right?" Daphne asked, taking the bottle from me. "Move over, Justin. The Lukinator wants his Auntie Daphne. Isn't that right? Yes, yes it is!"

Jesus Christ.

My son, ever the attention whore, was giggling and squealing at her words and happily took the bottle. I rolled my eyes and went to find the Lucky Charms.

But by the look on my mother's face, I knew that our conversation was far from over.


	4. Slip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Disclaimer: Because Justin is a gigantic nerd, he reads from Harry Potter in this chapter. I don't own that either.

**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 4: Slip**

"So that was it—a blow job in the bathroom of some bar? You didn't get laid last night?" Daphne sounded crushed, as though it was her sex drive that had not been sated.

"Of course I did," I said impatiently. "If you'd shut the fuck up for ten seconds, you'd know that."

I could practically hear her roll her eyes. "You are such a brat."

"Well, if you don't wanna hear..."

"Shut up. You know I do."

I grinned. "So. When he went off into the backroom with that trick, I was like, 'Fuck you!' and I got my own. He was hot. Tall, dark curly hair, and that really nice golden skin tone that mixed race people have, you know?"

"Thanks," Daphne said dryly.

"Well, it was nice!" I said, a bit huffy with yet  _another_  interruption. "You have beautiful cocoa skin, and if you were a guy, I would totally jerk off just thinking about the tones of your skin. Happy?"

"Delirious."

I ignored her. "So I fucked him in the backroom, and then I was dancing for, like, ever. This dude with a fez kept buying me drinks from across the bar, which was kind of creepy, but it was free alcohol so whatever. But then he came over and kept trying to feel me up, so I shoved him and I was about to leave when Brian put his hand on the back of my neck and was like, 'Running off so soon, Sunshine?'. And then he took me back to the loft, and we fucked."

"How was it?"

"Amazing, of course," I said obviously. "I think he was still a little freaked about last time, because he rimmed me for, like, an hour before he actually put his dick in. And he was kind of gentle, too. Then I got him to give me a ride—"

I stopped as the door swung open and Mom poked her head in.

"—and I can get you my notes on the lecture on Monday," I went on smoothly, although Mom did not look impressed so she probably wasn't fooled. "But I really don't know what else to tell you. Maybe you can talk to him after class?"

"Your mom there?" Daphne sounded amused.

"Yeah," I said. "You should be fine."

"Right. I'll call back tonight."

"See you."

Daphne hung up, and I put the phone down to face Mom.

"Luke still asleep?" she asked, her eyes going up to the ceiling where Luke was taking his afternoon nap up in my room.

I nodded.

She sat down in the seat across from me. I'd taken up residence behind my father's desk for my conversation with Daphne because it was the only room in the house that was downstairs and had a door, besides the bathroom. I was lucky that Dad was in afternoon meetings with some big shot from Japan, otherwise I would've been having my conversation on the toilet.

Sitting behind Dad's desk, I had a vague sense of empowerment. I felt a little better about the impending discussion.

"So," Mom said, looking at me as though she were waiting for me to begin.

Why not?

"I'm a faggot," I said bluntly. "A cocksucker. A fudge-packer. I like to take it up the ass and I give a hell of a blowjob. Is that what you want to hear?"

Her expression was inscrutable for a long moment, and then she slowly exhaled. "Of course it isn't what I want to hear. I'm your mother."

I stared, keeping my face impassive. I wasn't sure if it was a rejection, and didn't know what to say. No mother wanted to hear that her child was gay, or that her child gave really fucking good head?

"It's just such a surprise," she said, almost pleadingly.

Pleading for it to not be true?

"You never suspected?" I demanded. "You never even thought?"

She frowned. "Well, I did, until Sara, and then I was just so..."

"Relieved?" I challenged.

"Busy worrying about other things." She had a pointed look on her face, which usually meant that she thought I was out of line. "I just let the whole idea drop from my mind."

But what about now? Would she let it drop now, ignore me, shove me back into the closet because she couldn't deal?

"Well, it's time to pull it back out," I said, rather snottily, when she didn't say anything more. "I'm queer. And I'm not going to fucking change, even if you hate me for it."

Mom exhaled again, her eyes bright. "Oh, Justin. I could never hate you. You're my son, and I love you no matter what."

Tangible relief.

She still loved me.

"Really?" My voice cracked a little.

Mom reached across the desk and put her hand over mine. "Yes. Really."

My throat tightened, and I had to work to keep myself under control. But—but Mom was okay with it. She was okay with  _me_.

"I'm not saying that I don't need to adjust to the idea," she said slowly. "But if that's what you are, Justin, then... Okay."

"Okay?"

She squeezed my hand, smiling. "Okay."

Relief was still pounding in my veins, and I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to absorb everything that I was feeling so that it would die down a little bit.

"So, tell me about this Brian of yours," Mom said, making me open my eyes in surprise. "Is he your boyfriend?"

Thank god for motherly distraction tactics.

"Um. Sort of," I said, hoping that she wouldn't press for details.

"Were you with him last night?" she asked.

I nodded. "Are you gonna tell Dad?"

A moment's pause.

"He should know," Mom said at last.

I felt a spike of fear, and the last vestiges of relief were sucked out of me in seconds. "He doesn't need to know. He can't know. He  _can't_."

"He's your father."

"He'll use it as an excuse to take Luke away! You know he will!"

Mom remained passive in the face of my yelling. "Justin, I can't keep something like this from him. It's not right."

"And it's not right, the way he's been treating me, but you let him get away with  _that_ ," I hissed.

Mom winced. "I hardly think—"

"You can't tell him."

She stared at me, visibly torn.

"You can't."

"All right," she finally conceded, not sounding happy. "I won't say anything."

I fell back into the chair, closing my eyes and letting out a huge breath of air. "Thank you.  _Thank you._  You're the best mom ever."

She sighed. "So says my coffee mug."

Molly and I had bought it for her three years ago. I really couldn't believe that she still used it, but every morning without fail, she had it on the table.

Mom rose from her chair, brushing herself off. "Now, I have laundry to fold, and  _you_  have homework to do. Upstairs with you."

I held in a groan, thinking about the agony of William Falkner, and the extensive chapter summaries that I now owed Daphne. But the hug and the kiss on the cheek Mom gave me on my way out of the office made me feel a little bit better about it all.

 

A while later, I was laying on my bed and reading Addie's whining about how having children had violated her 'aloneness' and thinking she was the most irritating character ever. Luke was awake but entertaining himself in his crib—he kept pulling himself up to a standing position, clutching the bars on the crib, and then sitting back down. Up and down, up and down, up and down, for almost twenty minutes.

But when my father opened the door, any feelings of peace or contentment I might have been languishing in vanished.

"What?" I asked.

Had Mom told him? Did he know?

"We're having company tomorrow afternoon," Dad said.

I was relieved, until his words sunk in, and then I was suspicious.

Dad's eyes went to Luke, who was now sitting and staring at him with interest. "You're welcome to join us, if you can find a babysitter."

My eyes narrowed. "And if I can't? Why isn't Luke allowed to come? It's not like it's some huge secret that I knocked up some girl at school last year."

"They don't know that you've been taking care of him," Dad said evenly.

I shut my book and sat up on the bed. "You can't hide him forever. Mr. Anderson's been gone for more than three weeks, now. He's not coming back. Luke is here to stay, Dad."

"They don't know that," Dad replied readily.

"Of course," I sneered. "Mr. Anderson never bothered with the country club, did he? Why should they care about him? Just let them assume that he's dealt with the death of his only child, and is happily raising his grandson in her place."

"This gathering is no place for a baby," Dad said calmly, as non-reactive to my anger as Mom. "If you can't find a babysitter, then you'll have to watch him yourself. In your room."

And then he turned to leave.

"You can't keep us locked up forever!" I yelled after him, furious. "Eventually, everyone's gonna find out that your son is raising his bastard child in your house!"

He shut my door with a click.

I stared at the closed door, flexing my fists and positively steaming with anger. He thought he could keep us hidden? What were we, his dirty little secret? I was his son! I was supposed to be a hell of a lot more important than his goddamn social standing at the motherfucking country club.

Luke let out a string of nervous babble, and my train of thought was derailed.

"Shit," I muttered, closing my eyes.

More baby babble.

I opened my eyes, standing up and walking over to his crib. "It's all right," I told him, running a hand over his soft blonde hair. "It's not your fault. I'm sorry I keep getting angry when you're around—hopefully, I'll learn to stop doing that before you're old enough to be psychologically traumatized by it, right?"

Luke gave me a drool-filled smile, and then babbled a bit more.

 

I appealed to my mother about my banishment, but she was merely sympathetic.

"I'm sorry, Justin, but your father's right. It's no place for a baby. Anyway, it's only the Silvermans and the Kubuskos—you don't even like them very much."

"That isn't the point!" I said furiously. "I'm not a  _prisoner_. He can't just hide me and Luke whenever someone comes over. Mr. Anderson isn't coming back, and Luke is here. Permanently"

"Honey, the people that are coming over tomorrow? They agree with your father. They think that you should put Luke up for adoption, and they've been pushing for that idea ever since they heard about the situation." She patted my arm. "Your father's just trying to protect you."

"Bullshit!"

"Justin."

"Well, it is. And you know it. The only thing he's protecting is his reputation. What's he going to do if he finds out that I'm gay? Are you gonna let him try to beat the gayness out of me, because he's 'protecting me'?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be so melodramatic. Look at it this way: Do you want to expose Luke to the Silvermans and Kubuskos? People who would rather see him shipped off to an infertile couple in Lower Manhattan?"

"That's not the point," I said through clenched teeth.

"Well, it may not be your point, but it's a good one nevertheless."

I wasn't getting anywhere.

"Thanks for nothing, Mom," I snapped as I stormed out of the room.

 

Late Sunday afternoon found me holed up in my room with Luke while the party went on downstairs. I had been hoping that Luke would be unusually fussy today so that his cries would be heard throughout the house, forcing my father to tell everyone about us, but Luke was in a good mood. Generally, as long as I wasn't losing my temper, he was a pretty happy kid.

Currently, I was reading to him from  _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_. The parallel of the situations could not be ignored.

"No cards, no presents, and he would be spending the evening pretending not to exist. He gazed miserably into the hedge. He had never felt so lonely. More than anything else at Hogwarts, more even than playing Quidditch, Harry missed his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

I paused, looking up to see Luke clinging to the leg of his crib, standing on shaky feet.

"You know this makes you Dobby, right?" I asked him. "The loud, obnoxious elf who couldn't give a rat's ass that there's company downstairs?"

Luke let go of the pole and fell on his diaper-cushioned butt, and then giggled.

"You're supposed to try to stay upright, dude," I informed him, reaching over and tickling his belly a little. "You're not supposed to like falling down. That's the bad part."

Luke giggled some more, grabbing onto one of my hands with both of his and raising it up. Then over. Then down a little.

"What are you doing?" I asked, watching as he played with my hand a bit more before finally pushing it all the way away from his body. Then, apparently, satisfied, he turned his attention back to the leg on his crib.

He was fuckin' adorable, as Debbie would say. How could Dad want to hide him?

"Fuck that," I said, my mind suddenly made up.

I shut  _Harry Potter_  and shoved it off to the side, pushing myself up off the ground. Luke had pulled himself up again on the leg of the crib, and I caught him just as he let go.

"C'mon, dude," I said, grabbing his stuffed hippo before heading for the door. "We're done hiding up here, making no noise and pretending we don't exist. Harry didn't do it, and neither will we."

Luke grabbed the hippo and shoved one of the legs into his mouth, making happy noises around it and drooling a little. He had been drooling more than usual in the last two days.

"Do you have another tooth coming in?" I asked him as we headed down the stairs. From the sounds I was hearing, everyone was in the front sitting room. "You haven't been cranky, and you drove your Mom crazy when you got your first two. I'll stick your ring in the freezer just in case, okay?"

Luke continued to chew on the leg.

I wandered into the kitchen, keeping up my one-sided conversation. The kitchen led directly into the living room, which was connected to the sitting room. They wouldn't be able to see me, but they would hear me.

No doubt they were staying away from the kitchen so they wouldn't see the high chair in the corner. I scowled.

"It's almost dinner time for you, isn't it?" I asked sweetly. "Yes it is. How about some red lentils? And some peas and carrots?"

I dragged the high chair over to the kitchen table, letting the rubber legs drag on the floor loudly. After all, I only had one hand free. I couldn't help it.

In the sitting room, conversation was at a pause.

I set Luke in the high chair, and he immediately threw his hippo to the ground and then delighted as I picked it up.

"I'll give you a banana first," I told him. "You can eat that while I warm up the rest of your dinner, okay?"

I heard my mother say something quietly, and my father muttered something.

I set to work on the banana.

Seconds later, Dad stomped into the kitchen.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed, his face a funny shade of red. "I told you to—"

"Stay up in my room, make no noise and pretend not to exist," I interrupted calmly, slicing the banana. "I know. But Luke was hungry. Was I supposed to let him starve?"

Dad stared at me, clearly struggling not to shout because there were people in the next room. He was pissed. Royally pissed.

"What did you tell them?" I asked, setting the banana slices in front of Luke. "I was babysitting someone else's kid?"

"Go to your room," he said in a low voice. "Now."

"Luke needs his dinner."

Dad intercepted me on my way to the cupboard, grabbing my arm and shaking me. "You get your ass upstairs,  _now_ , or I will—"

"Craig?" Mom called quietly, wandering in. Her eyes widened. "What are you doing? Let him go!"

Dad released me roughly, and I stumbled back a step.

I raised my head and spoke before Dad could cut me off. "I was feeding Luke his dinner. He was hungry."

Mom looked between us, giving me a vaguely exasperated look. She knew that I'd done this on purpose, and she wasn't amused.

"Jennifer? What's wro—"

And then Mrs. Silverman froze, staring at Luke.

The secret was out.

 

Dad waited until the door had shut behind the Silvermans and Kubuskos before turning on me.

"I told you to stay in your  _goddamn room!_ "

Luke burst into tears.

I swallowed, pulling my resolve together. "You can't hide me, Dad. I won't let you."

"As long as you live under this roof, you will respect me. You  _will_  listen to me. You are living in my house, eating the food that I put on the table, going to the school that I pay for, and I will not have you embarrassing me!"

I rocketed to my feet. "He's not an embarrassment! He's a child! He's  _my_  child!"

Luke wailed, and I abruptly realized how tightly I was holding him.

Mom tried to approach me. "Justin, why don't you—"

"Fuck off," I snapped, jerking away.

"Apologize to your mother," Dad growled.

I clutched Luke tighter to me, ignoring his squalling. "No. No, you know what? Both of you can fuck off! Fucking  _fuck off_  already! You put your motherfucking party over your grandson, so FUCK OFF!"

I screamed the last words so loudly my throat hurt, and my eyes swam with tears. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stand to be in the same room as them anymore.

I took the stairs two at a time, Luke still screaming in my arms.

 

"They fought for, like, an hour last night," I told Daphne as she shuffled through her locker for her history notebook. "And Molly was being a total brat. She stuck her head in my room and was all like, 'I hope you're happy with yourself.  _I_  never make them fight.'"

"Well, did you think they'd be happy with you after ruining their party?" Daphne asked.

I frowned. "Well, no. But I didn't do it to make them fight—I just want my father to acknowledge that Luke exists for a change!"

"It was pretty shitty of him," Daphne agreed. There was a thump from her locker as something fell from the top shelf, and she swore.

"I think he's secretly Uncle Vernon, from the second Harry Potter book."

Daphne brought her head out, staring at me. "Oh my God. You are such a  _dork_."

I swatted her arm. "Shut up, you know it's true. I was reading it to Luke last night—he's totally Dobby the House Elf."

"Oh my God," Daphne groaned. She finally pulled out her history notebook and slammed her locker shut. "I don't know you. Walk behind me."

Grinning, I slung an arm over her shoulders. "You know you love me."

Daphne grumbled.

"Anyway. So does that offer about measuring your plants for you this week still stand?"

She glanced at me. "You're allowed to go out? Aren't you, like, grounded?"

"Not really," I said, shrugging. "I mean, how can they ground me? I spend all my time at home with Luke anyway. Besides, fuck that. I want to see Brian again."

"I totally cannot believe that your mom is okay with you dating him," Daphne said, making a face.

"We're not dating," I said automatically.

Daphne waved a hand. "Fucking. Whatever. He's so old!"

"He's only twenty-nine. And my mother doesn't know that—I think she thinks he's my age or something."

"You really think that she's gonna keep it a secret from your dad?" Daphne asked, lowering her voice as we headed into the classroom.

I opened my mouth to respond when suddenly my balance was thrown and I went sprawling forward, my backpack lurching up and slamming into the back of my head.

"Justin!" Daphne squealed, down by my side in an instant.

I glanced up and saw Chris Hobbs standing above me, smirking. "Walk much, twinkle-toes?"

"Fuck off," I muttered, picking myself up.

"What an asshole," Daphne said as she followed me to the back of the room. "He didn't used to be so mean to you."

I decided not to mention that his sudden aggression towards me was probably related to the fact that I'd jerked him off in the storage room a few weeks ago. That had been a mistake, and now I was paying for it. Chris Hobbs would lay off me after a while.

 

Life consisted of school and Luke for the next few days. Dad was still steaming over Sunday and refused to speak to me, and while Mom wasn't too upset with me, she did tend to sigh and then leave the room whenever I dared to leave my bedroom. Dinners were silent, with the exception of Molly's incessant chattering and Luke's babbling. School was a bit better, with the exception of Chris Hobbs & Co. But the only truly bright spots in my life were Luke, Daphne, and the thought of seeing Brian again on Friday.

By Thursday morning, I was miserable. And I looked bad enough that Daphne took one look at me and said, "You look like shit. We're sneaking out after third period and going downtown."

We'd never skipped school before, and I was surprised at how easy it was.

"We have got to do this more often!" I said, swallowing the last of the hotdog I'd bought from a street vendor. "Why didn't I think of this?"

"Um, because if we get caught, we'll be in sooooo much trouble?" Daphne suggested.

I rolled my eyes. "Please. We snuck into a club with a fake ID, while underage, and appropriated alcohol. What's a few school rules next to that?"

"This place looks so different during the day," Daphne said as we strolled past Woody's, changing the subject.

In the daylight, Liberty Avenue did look a lot different. Not in a bad way. It almost felt like a little gay utopia, with queers strolling down the streets carrying grocery bags, arguing over whose turn it was to clean the bathroom, comparing notes on new condom brands... I noticed for the first time that there were hanging baskets of ivy hung from a few lampposts.

"Yeah," I said belatedly. "I don't feel obligated to get horny just by standing here."

Daphne smacked my arm, giggling. "Ew!"

I was about to smack her back when a blonde head caught my eyes. "Hey! It's one of Brian's lesbians!"

"What, does he keep them in a tank?" Daphne asked, but I was already running to catch up with her.

"Hey—hey!" I called.

Lindsay stopped, turning around to look at me in confusion. She was pushing a stroller, which presumably contained Gus.

"Hi!" I said brightly as Daphne came to a stop beside me.

Lindsay frowned. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm Justin. I was with Brian the night Gus was born? And, um, I named him?"

"Yeah..." she said, giving me a funny look. Probably wondering why the hell that entitled me to stop her on the street.

"I, um..." I cast about for an excuse, before noticing what she was carrying. "You looked like you could use a hand. It's got to be hard to push the stroller and carry all those... are those portfolios?"

"Yes, they are," Lindsay said, sounding surprised that I knew that. She smiled at me. "I was just on my way to the Gay and Lesbian Center. I'd be happy to have help, although it's just up this block."

I grabbed three of the enormous portfolios.

"This is my friend Daphne, by the way," I said as I passed one of the heavy bags off to her.

Daphne waved. "Hi. Um. I'm not a lesbian. But I'm a big fan!"

Lindsay paused, apparently not sure what to say to that.

"So what are these for?" I asked, hefting them over my shoulder, where they banged against my backpack. We started walking again.

"The GLC is having an art show next week," Lindsay answered. "I'm going to have to sort through all of this and decide whose art will be going up, and Mel was a bit tired of not being able to sit down on the couch."

"Justin's an artist, too, you know," Daphne said.

Lindsay looked at me, her eyebrows going up. "Are you really?"

I shrugged. "I'm pretty good."

"And modest," Lindsay laughed.

"Justin, you should enter the art show!" Daphne said excitedly. "Is it too late to enter?"

"I could take a look at your work, if you'd like," Lindsay offered to me. "If it's good enough, I'll take a few late submissions."

She stopped and turned, and I found myself at the GLC. It was a larger building, a little run-down, but this was partially hidden by the posters that were plastered on the outside of the building, advertising things like free anonymous HIV testing, an LGTBQ picnic, and an all-male production of Sweet Charity that would be going up next month.

"I've got my sketchbook with me," I said. "I'll show it to you when we set this stuff down."

I wasn't even sure that I could make the art show, but the idea of my work being displayed—maybe even bought, if it was that kind of show—it made me excited. Since quitting art club, I'd been isolated from the world of art.

The portfolios went in a backroom of the GLC, up against a desk. From the stroller, Gus began to fuss a little, and Lindsay unbuckled him. I shrugged off my backpack and went for my sketchbook.

"I'll trade you," I said, offering her the sketchbook.

Lindsay looked a little doubtful, but held out Gus anyway. "Just make sure you get the back of his—yeah, like that. Good." She smiled at me. "You're a natural!"

"Something like that," I said, holding Gus in the same way that I'd held Luke in the first few months of his life. I grinned down at the baby, who was staring at me with wide eyes and an apprehensive expression. "Hey there," I said softly. "I'm Justin."

Gus blinked a few times, and then decided not to start crying, to my great relief. I focused on Lindsay, who was flipping through my sketchbook.

There was a running competition between Brian and Luke for the Most Sketched Subject award, and I watched as Lindsay flipped through pages filled with images of both of them. Luke, Luke, Brian, Luke, Brian naked, Brian's face mid-orgasm, Luke, Brian... And then there was Sara. Dead Sara. Cal's face, awash in grief and shock. Cal's retreating back down the hallway of the hospital.

Lindsay stopped at that one.

"These are incredible, Justin," she said, glancing up at me. "This one in particular. The slump of his shoulders, the shading from the lights... You captured something raw here."

I nodded. "Yeah."

She turned the page, revealing an experiment I'd done two weeks ago in abstractions of hands. Lindsay paused at that, too.

"I was, uh... That was new," I said haltingly.

"It's not bad for a first attempt," Lindsay said, turning it horizontally. "You might try the same idea, but maybe with color?"

I frowned. "Maybe."

Lindsay looked at it a moment longer, and then shut the sketchbook. "Get me your submissions by Saturday morning, and you're in. You're very talented, Justin."

"Thanks," I said, grinning.

"Are you an artist, too?" Daphne asked.

"A failed one, I'm afraid," Lindsay said, looking a bit sheepish. "I'm just an art teacher, now. And speaking of school, shouldn't you two be in class? Aren't you still in high school?"

"Senior skip day," I lied promptly.

Daphne quickly nodded in agreement.

Lindsay laughed. "Oh, now that brings back memories. God. High school."

Gus started to fuss in my arms, and I instinctively adjusted my grip, rocking him a little and making shushing noises.

"I can take him," Lindsay offered, arms held out.

He was quiet again, but I handed him back over anyway.

"Will Brian be at the show?" I asked, before I could stop myself.

"He holds a certain... contempt for the GLC," Lindsay said carefully.

I frowned. "Why?"

She shrugged. "He calls it, 'the place where fags go when they can't get laid'. He... doesn't do community. But I'll see what I can do. Mel and I will definitely be there—we're on the board for the center."

"Cool," I said. "So, um, do you need anything else?"

"Well, Gus and I are on our way to the pediatrician, so I think we'll have to brave that alone. But thanks for the offer." Lindsay gave me a smile. Despite the obvious country club manners that had been ingrained in her as they had in Daphne and I, she seemed to really mean it. I decided that I liked Lindsay.

"Anytime," I said.

"It was nice meeting you," Daphne added.

And so Lindsay said goodbye, and Daphne and I were left to decide what to do with the two hours of freedom we had left before I had to get back home. Suddenly feeling inspired, I wanted to go to the art supply store and get new pencils. Daphne said that I had enough pencils to build a birdcage already, and that she wanted to go to a tattoo parlor where a decent fake ID operation was apparently in business in the backroom. She began forcibly dragging me in the direction of the parlor as soon as we were out of the GLC.

Oh, well. I needed a fake ID more than pencils, anyway.


	5. Cling

**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 5: Cling**

When I got home from school on Friday afternoon, my mother did not immediately pass Luke off to me and then disappear into the kitchen, as she had been doing all week. She sat on the couch, waiting for me, while Luke played his stand-and-fall game with the leg of the coffee table. He was giggling to himself.

I hesitantly dropped my backpack to the ground. What did she want?

"There's a message for you on the answering machine," Mom said, her voice not giving anything away.

My stomach swooped. Fuck. What could it be? Obviously, no one was sick or dying, because she would have told me that right off the bat. Had the school left a message about my cutting school yesterday? Had Daphne's parents called about something? Had Brian called? Debbie?

I made my way over to the answering machine and pressed play.

"Message one, left at 9:32 am, Friday." A beep. "Hi, this is Lindsay Peterson calling for Justin. Justin, I just wanted to let you know that I'm actually going to need your entries for the art show by noon on Saturday. We'll be setting up on Sunday, but if you can't make it, just attach an index card with the title of each piece, your name, the medium, and when the piece was created, and I'll take care of it. If you have questions, call me at (412) 555-3901. Thanks!"

Oh. Well, that wasn't so bad.

I turned around to face my mother, who was raising an eyebrow at me.

"Why didn't you tell me you were in an art show, Justin?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

 _That_  was what she was pissed about?

"You haven't exactly been speaking to me," I said brattily. "And anyway, it's at the GLC—that's the  _Gay_ and _Lesbian_  Center—so, you know, there's gonna be a bunch of fags there. I didn't think you'd want to come."

She sighed.

Luke let go of the leg and fell back on his butt, giggling madly. I was waiting for the day that he let go, went rolling back, and hit his head on something.

"I'm sorry for the way that I've been acting this week," Mom said finally, her face open and honest. "I was trying to gain a little clarity for myself, and in the process, I was hurting you. I'm sorry. That wasn't fair."

"No, it wasn't," I said stiffly.

"But I still love you," she went on. "And I want to support you. Being in an art show is something that you should be proud of. It's an accomplishment. I want you to share your accomplishments with me, Justin. I want to be proud of you."

"And I haven't given you much to be proud of lately, have I?" I asked, the sarcasm practically dripping.

Her lips thinned. "No, you haven't. I'm not going to coddle you and tell you what a mature, responsible person you've been lately, because it's not true."

She was so frank, and so calm. It pissed me off.

"Sara's death was a tragedy, but the way you've been handling it..." Mom looked pained. "Going off with your boyfriend, completely disregarding your father, treating me with next to no respect..."

"And what do you want me to do?" I demanded through clenched teeth. "Stay home all the time with Luke? Hide out in my bedroom like the embarrassment I am? Suddenly turn  _straight_  so that I don't have to be afraid of my own family hating me?"

"Of course not!" Mom exclaimed, standing and crossing over to me. "Neither your father nor I want that for you. But honey, you have to admit—"

"No," I snapped, jerking away. " _You_  have to admit that you don't know what you're doing. One moment you're siding with Dad, and the next you're sneaking behind his back, and then you're telling me that he's actually right! So don't yell at me! At least I know whose side I'm on."

"Justin..."

"Daphne's coming over to watch Luke tonight," I said, leaving her to pick up Luke. "I'm sorry if that makes me a bad father and an immature brat in your eyes, but I need one night a week where I'm not trapped in a house with people who fucking hate me."

  


Five hours later, I cornered Brian at Woody's.

"I need a favor," I said, sitting on the edge of the pool table.

Brian was playing against himself tonight. Apparently, Michael was still seeing Dr. Dave, and Brian was hurting for pool partners.

"Get in line," Brian said curtly, lining up his shot.

I rolled my eyes. "Not a sexual favor. A  _favor-_ favor."

"And what the fuck is a favor-favor?" Brian asked, glancing up with raised eyebrows.

I gestured for him to take his shot, and he did. Two striped balls fell into the left corner pocket, and the cue ball did a wobbly spin off to the right.

"I need you to get this to Lindsay before noon," I told him, plunking down the large manila envelope.

Brian picked it up with two fingers, holding it as though it might bite him and give him rabies. "And why, pray tell, are you corresponding with the munchers?"

"Lindsay suggested that I submit some pieces for the art show at the GLC. I have to get them to her by tomorrow at noon."

Brian looked interested. Or rather, his eyebrow twitched, which I took to be a sign of intense interest.

"It's on Tuesday at eight," I added offhandedly. "Lindsay said I'm for sure going to be in it. She says my work is incredible."

"Keep up that attitude and you'll never need an agent to sell your shit for you."

"Will you be there?" I asked, unable to help myself.

Brian glanced at me, and then he dropped the envelope on the pool table it. "No. The GLC makes me feel itchy."

Asshole.

"That's just the crabs acting up again, not the GLC," I sniped, glaring at the cue ball.

I realized Brian was staring at me a moment later.

Suddenly a bit self-conscious, I shrugged. "What? People get a little spiteful when you turn them down."

Brian smirked. "Been picking up my leftovers, Sunshine?"

"It's hard to find someone who  _isn't_  your leftovers," I shot back, scowling at him.

Brian grinned. "Oh, look. The kitten has claws."

"Will you give these to Lindsay?" I asked, holding up the envelope again.

"Whatever," Brian said, focusing on the pool table again.

I grinned, and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you."

He grunted. "My car's parked on the opposite side of the street. Go slide it under the front seat."

I grabbed the envelope and bounded out of Woody's, unable to stop grinning. I couldn't wait to get back into Woody's and thank him in a way that he'd appreciate, not just some stupid kiss on the cheek.

But when I returned, Brian had gone, and I didn't see him the rest of the night.

  


"So, what do I need to do for you in order to get you to babysit for me on Tuesday night?" I asked Daphne the following morning.

Daphne arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me? I'm the one that got you into this show, I think I'm entitled to see what my efforts have gotten you. Have your mom watch him."

"Please?" I begged. "Mom has a PTA meeting at Molly's school, and it's election night or something, so she'll be there all night. And I won't let Dad watch Luke. There's no way."

"Well, you're right about that," Daphne said. She looked around and then leaned in, lowering her voice. "He was a total  _dick_  last night when I tried to play with Luke in the living room. I know I should have just stayed in your room like you said, but it just isn't right to coop him up like that. I felt bad."

She gave Luke a sympathetic look, but then wrinkled her nose.

"You need to learn how to eat, mister," she informed him, using his bib to wipe at the banana mush all over his face.

Luke whined and tried to twist his face away, but Daphne got him clean before he started crying.

"At least he's sticking to his beliefs," I said bitterly. "He thinks Luke should go away and never be thought of again, and that's the end. Mom's just been all over the place."

Daphne frowned. "But she's been totally cool with you being... you know." She made a few limp-wristed movements with her hand.

"I know," I said, frustrated. "I think—I mean, being gay is something that I am. She doesn't understand it, but she knows it's who I am. That I didn't choose it. Well, mostly. I think I set her straight on that. But getting a girl pregnant? That was a choice, a stupid one, and she can't defend it. I think that's what she's wrestling with. She can't stand up to my father when I was the one who did wrong in the first place, but she still kind of wants to."

"Okay," said Daphne slowly.

"Did that make any sense at all?" I asked.

She shrugged. "A little. The point is, if you want me to miss your debut as an artist, it's going to cost you. Big time."

I was wary. "What do you want?"

"You're going to pay for my fake ID," Daphne said.

I almost fell out of my chair. "That's a hundred dollars!"

"And I'll babysit the next four Friday nights," Daphne said, relenting a little.

My scowl was all the answer she needed.

"Yes!" she cried, punching her fist into the air.

"There's a word for this, you know," I muttered.

"Generosity?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'exploitation', 'profiteering' and 'price gouging'."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "What _ever_. The guy at the tattoo parlor said they'd be ready by Wednesday. We can make an outing out of it—and Luke can come! And then we can go out for ice cream. Can Luke have ice cream yet?"

I shook my head. "Nope. He has yogurt with lunch sometimes, but that's about all he can take. You're not supposed to make dairy a main part of a baby's diet until they're at least twelve months old, and it should always be done after you've consulted with the baby's pediatrician."

"Are you quoting something, or do you just naturally speak like a textbook sometimes?" Daphne asked.

I grinned, shrugged. "Brian calls me his little public service announcement."

"How affectionate," Daphne said dryly.

"Yeah, well, he calls me his little stalker," I said, rolling my eyes. " _And_  he didn't fuck me last night."

"Oh, the humanity."

I shoved her. "Bitch. There is  _no one_  that fucks like Brian Kinney does. It's his fault I have ridiculously high standards, now. I don't think I'll ever be sated again."

"This is my sympathetic face," Daphne deadpanned.

"You're the one who lives vicariously through my sex life," I told her. "Go off to some gross breeder bar and get laid, yourself."

"Gross breeder bar?" Daphne echoed.

I nodded.

She gave me a look. "You know, just because Brain says it, doesn't mean you have to repeat it."

"Well, they are gross," I said indignantly, even though I knew that wasn't what she was getting at. "Fat old men talking about football and pussy, and girls with tramp stamps hanging out? Ew."

"Oh,  _that's_  what that thing above my ass is?" Daphne asked coolly. "Thanks for letting me know. I was wondering why that was there."

Oh. Oops.

"Daph, no! You're not a breeder," I assured her quickly. "You're different. Breeders are... they're..." I floundered for words, unable to explain what a breeder was. Brian had never explicitly told me. I just knew that it was  _not_  Daphne. "You're not."

Daphne sighed a little bit, looking at me almost sadly. "Justin, does Brian really hate straight people? All of them?"

I thought about it. "Yeah. More or less. Maybe not Debbie, but she's practically a gay man anyway."

"Well,  _you_  shouldn't," Daphne decided. Her expression was completely serious. "You sound like my Uncle Lenny—you know, the one who hates white people so much? Yells at my parents all the time for not sending me to an all-black high school, keeps sending me brochures for Howard University?"

I winced. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry."

She studied me for a moment. "All right. I forgive you. Especially since you're buying me a fake ID and everything!"

I buried my head in my hands. "I have shallow friends."

"Don't be silly, Justin," Daphne said, patting me on the back. "You don't have more than one friend. No need to pluralize."

  


I did miss Daphne at the art show, though—I needed someone to take my mind off of the fact that Brian hadn't shown up yet. Not that I was expecting him to. But I was still hopeful. And anyway, the only people I knew there were Melanie and Lindsay, who were bent on getting me a boyfriend my own age.

The problem with a boy my own age, besides the fact that he wouldn't be Brian, was that I had a kid. And no teenager wanted to date someone with a kid. At least with Brian, things were fucked up enough that I couldn't even think of our future together beyond the Friday nights that I was able to escape the house. I never had to worry about Brian finding out about Luke, because it wouldn't happen. We were never going to get to that point.

Like I'd known that night in the hospital, in the men's room—Brian didn't love me. He never would. I just had to hold on like hell to whatever I had.

"Everyone loves your drawings," Lindsay was telling me.

I grinned. That, at least, was true. There had been a steady stream of people past my stuff all night.

"Have you checked out the food?" Melanie asked, pointing over to the buffet table.

"I'm not hungry," I said, shaking my head.

"Okay, how about the cute boys?" Melanie asked.

I worked hard not to close my eyes and groan. It was the third mention of the 'cute boys' tonight.

"There's some right over there," Melanie went on, pointing across the room. "Just about your age."

But then I felt him.

I swear to God, I felt him before I saw him. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled and a low current of energy suddenly began thrumming in my veins.

"He's here," I said, just as my eyes locked onto his figure coming through the door.

Brian had come. He'd come!

"Mm," said Melanie, unenthusiastically. "Yippie."

Despite the fact that I'd been waiting  _all night_  for Brian to walk through those doors, I maintained my post by my art as Lindsay and Melanie wandered off. I watched Lindsay kiss Brian on the cheek, and then I watched Brian practically run away as Michael and some mammoth Adonis approached. I assumed the mammoth Adonis was actually the Dr. Dave that Brian had been bitching about for the last few weeks.

I casually made my way over to the champagne table.

Moments later, a familiar voice was drawling in my ear.

"Well, if it isn't the famous artist?"

I turned to him, grinning. "Did you see my stuff?"

Brian smirked. "No. I had to get a drink first."

"You didn't take it out for a peek on Friday?" I asked. I had a feeling it was something he would do.

"And why," Brian asked, in a slow, condescending drawl, "would I do that?"

"Because you knew there'd be at least one sketch of you in there," I shot back without missing a beat.

He raised his eyebrows. "Is there really?"

"The one titled 'Cock of the Walk'," I said cheekily. "It's over there. If you're interested."

"Suddenly, I think I am," Brian said, giving my ass a parting squeeze before heading off in the direction of my art.

It did not escape my notice that this was also where Michael was standing. But I'd take what I could get.

Unfortunately, that was when I discovered my mother.

"I thought you were at Molly's PTA meeting!" I hissed, dragging her off to the side.

She eyed the glass of champagne in my hand, but thankfully decided to focus on the bigger issue at hand. "Well, I skipped it. It's just a PTA meeting, Justin—this is your first real art show!"

"If I'd known you could skip it, I'd have asked you to watch Luke! Do you know what I had to do to get Daphne to watch him tonight?"

"You couldn't have brought him with you?" Mom asked, raising her eyebrows.

I shifted guiltily. "It's not really an appropriate event for a baby."

"Does your Brian know you have a child?" Mom pressed. "Is he here tonight?"

"Look," I said, draining the last of my champagne. "The point is, you can't be here. You have to leave."

I tried to give her a nudge towards the door, but she shook me off. "Justin, I'm not here to embarrass you. I just want to see your work on display!"

"Oh,  _now_  you want to see me on display?" I said with a sharp laugh. "Now it's okay for me to come out of my room?"

"Justin, do not do this here," Mom warned.

"What? Embarrass you in public? I think it's too late for that."

Mom opened her mouth to say something when suddenly Lindsay's voice cut into the conversation.

"Justin, is this your mother?"

I forced a smile for Lindsay and Melanie.

"Hi," Mom said, holding out her hand. "I'm Jennifer."

Lindsay and Melanie introduced themselves and Lindsay praised my work, but it wasn't long before my mother very pointedly mentioned the baby in Lindsay's arms.

"And what a beautiful baby," she said, glancing at me only for a second before returning her attention to Gus. "Has he been all right for you, at such a formal event?"

You are so not subtle, Mom.

Lindsay smiled. "He's been an absolute angel. GLC events are open to anyone who supports us, regardless of age."

"Although technically, we're supporting him," Melanie said, grinning.

"At least until we're old and saggy," Lindsay agreed, turning to Melanie with a matching smile. "Then he'll have to pay for our rest home."

They shared a kiss.

I think it was only years of country club training that kept my mother's eyebrows in place. Personally, I was beginning to understand Brian's penchant for flaunting himself in front of straights.

"Sorry," Lindsay said, turning back to my mother with an even wider smile on her face.

My mother smiled, with a little effort. "That's okay. What's his name?"

"Gus," Lindsay said fondly.

"Actually," Melanie said, "Justin's the one who named him."

"Really?" Mom said. She glanced at me.

Oh no.

"That was his teddy bear's name!"

I wanted to die on the spot. My only consolation was that Brian was nowhere in the vicinity.

Lindsay and Melanie thought this was adorable, of course, and I endured their cooing for a few minutes until finally, Lindsay took pity on me and mentioned my art.

"I haven't seen it yet, no," Mom said. She turned to me. "Where's your stuff, honey?"

I pointed her in the right direction, and then ran off before Lindsay and Melanie could start up again.

  


Several minutes later, I was staring at a series of photographs featuring an androgynous person going through their daily routine. The angle of the shots were interesting, but the message seemed to be nothing more than 'Look how strange people live normal lives too', until I got to the last two photographs. The person at the end of the day, unbinding their breasts and untaping their testicles.

 _That_  was more interesting.

Then suddenly, an arm snaked around my torso and pulled me back against a familiar chest.

I grinned.

"Who's that guy you drew?" Brian murmured into my ear.

"Some asshole I picked up in a bar last week," I answered. I was pretty sure that he was talking about 'Cock of the Walk', not the drawing of Cal that was just to the left of it.

Brian laughed softly, nuzzling my neck a little. I turned my head, meeting his lips halfway, and we locked into a kiss. As usual, Brian immediately shoved his tongue into my mouth and pushed me back, and I let my body dip a little, held up by the arm across my back. I moaned, forcing myself up and putting up a fight, but all the blood was rushing down from my brain and into my dick and all I could think was  _skin Brian now_.

He pulled away.

I abruptly remembered that we were in the middle of a formal art showing.

"Mikey thinks you took some artistic liberties with my... proportions," Brian said, resting his forehead against mine.

I grinned softly. "He's right. I wasn't drawing how big it looks. I was drawing how big it feels when you're all the way inside me."

Brian swallowed, his eyes dark. "Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah," I whispered, angling in for another kiss and—

"Brian, get your tongue out of Justin's throat and say goodnight to your son."

Lindsay's voice cut in like a bucket of ice water, and Brian and I reluctantly separated. Lindsay smirked at us before offering Gus to Brian.

"You're leaving?" I asked her.

Brian was holding Gus the same way he had the night Gus was born—so far away from his body. I almost asked him why he was so afraid to let Gus get close to him, when I remembered that I didn't have a death wish. My thoughts then turned to Luke, who was probably asleep by now. He should have had a bath tonight, except Daphne had never bathed Luke before and I didn't want her going at it alone, so Luke was skipping a bath tonight. I'd give him one tomorrow.

"No, Mel's going to take Gus home," Lindsay answered, breaking up my train of thought. "I've got to help clean up when this is over."

"Good night, Sonny Boy," Brian said softly to Gus, staring down at him with a half-smile.

For a split second, I saw Brian with Luke, speaking to him in that same tender, loving tone, but then it was gone. I closed my eyes and forced the spurt of hope down, down, quashing it into the back recesses of my mind. That was never going to happen. I was being stupid. What the hell had made me think of that?

"Don't abuse my son too much, tonight," Brian called.

My eyes snapped open and I realized that Lindsay was walking away with Gus, laughing a little.

"So," I said, pushing a grin onto my face. I wrapped my arms around Brian's waist, pulling him close again. "Wanna take this to the bathroom?"

"I'm in the mood for something a little rougher, tonight," Brian said casually. He tried to step back, but I followed.

"Like that night at the hospital?" I asked. I was unable to hide the note of trepidation in my voice. I didn't want something rough tonight. I'd wanted it rough that night at the hospital because I was so incredibly numb, but right now I was feeling too much. I needed something gentle. But more than that I needed Brian, and I'd take him any way I could.

"Rougher than that," Brian growled, bringing our heads together.

Rougher?

"Okay," I breathed.

"Wanna fuck you so hard you'll pass out," Brian said into my ear, nibbling on it a little bit. "And then I'll fuck you awake again. You'll be screaming in pain, sobbing—"

It was so far from what I wanted tonight, it wasn't even funny. But I nodded my head, trying to breathe. If that was what Brian wanted...

Then, abruptly, he stopped talking and shoved me away. "You stupid little fuck."

My eyes widened. "What?"

Brian grabbed my wrist and pulled me behind the nearest faux-wall.

"Is that what you think I want?" he demanded, right up in my face. "Is that what you think I like? You think I'm some kind of fucking sadist?"

"I—wh—no!" I struggled for words. "No, I don't think that!"

His nose was an inch from mine. "Is that what you like? Pain? You get a hard-on thinking about me fucking you so hard there's blood dripping out of your ass?"

"No!" I cried, horrified. "I'm not a—a masochist."

"Don't lie to me," Brian growled.

"I'm not!"

He grabbed the front of my shirt. "Then why have you been following me around ever since that fuck at the hospital? Why are you so fucking  _eager_  for me to do it again?"

"I'm fucking  _not!_ " I yelled, shoving him off of me.

It went very quiet, out in the art gallery.

"Fuck this shit," Brian said, letting me go. "Go wander on over to Meat Hook, find yourself a big leather daddy for the night."

"No, fuck  _you_ ," I said furiously, grabbing his arm and pulling him back around to face me. "You don't get to blow me off. I was following you around before that fuck at the hospital, and I'm so fucking  _eager_  all the time because you're really hot, okay? That's it. And I don't want a repeat of that night, it's the last thing I need right now, but if it's what you need then I'd... I'll..."

Brian raised an eyebrow, and I got pissed again.

"I told you that night at the hospital was a one-time thing, and if you don't believe me, then fuck you," I snapped. "Fuck you, Brian."

And then I was done.

We stared at each other for several long moments, until it occurred to me that Brian was hard. Like, obviously hard.

"You should stand up for yourself more often," Brian murmured, drawing me close. "You're fucking hot when you're angry."

"I'll keep that in mind, next time you want to accuse me of being some crazed, masochistic stalker with leather daddy fantasies," I said stiffly, giving him a pointed look.

Brian grinned. "Well, if you take out the masochistic part, I don't know how untrue—"

I smacked his chest. "Shut up. I have not been stalking you."

"You're just a Brian-Kinney-seeking-missile every time you leave the house."

"I get one night of freedom a week. Do you have any idea how horny I get, waiting for Friday night?" I asked, rubbing my nose against his with a grin. "Who else on Liberty Avenue could fuck me as well as you?"

"The number is low." Brian thought about it for a moment. "Possibly in the single digits. Possibly a number less than two."

I laughed and leaned up for a kiss.

"Take this to the bathroom?" Brian asked.

I hesitated. "I—yeah. But not rough. I don't want it to hurt."

"That," Brian said, steering me toward the hallway, "can be arranged."

  


"It's those analogies," Daphne moaned as soon as I'd shut the door to the house behind me. As everyone in the house was asleep (it was past eleven), we'd decided to hold our conversation until we got outside. "They're killing me dead! I hate the verbal section. I want to kill it. And mince it into little tiny pieces. And then bake it into doggie biscuits."

"Really?" I said, arching an eyebrow.

Daphne giggled. "Okay, maybe I've been thinking about it a little too much."

"Just maybe," I said, grinning.

"Anyway, how was the art show?" Daphne asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Did you sell anything? Did Brian come? Tell me!"

"My  _mom_  came."

"Oh my God, seriously?"

I nodded. "Yeah. But she didn't stay for too long, so whatever. She's, like, trying to support me or something."

"That's good, right?"

"But then Brian came," I said, my voice picking up in excitement. "I mean, he spent most of the night following Michael around, but he looked at my art, we had a fight, and then we had sex in the bathrooms. And he offered me a ride home, but I had Dad's car tonight."

"You fought?" Daphne asked, scrunching up her nose. "I thought you said he wasn't your boyfriend."

"He's  _not_. We're just fucking. Boyfriends are for breed... Um. Lame people."

"So what did you fight about?" Daphne pressed, ignoring my 'breeders' slip.

I sighed. "It was really weird. He thought that I was actually really into pain, after that night at the hospital, and that I've been waiting for him to do it again ever since. That  _that's_  why I've been following him around for the last few weeks."

Daphne made a face. "Whoa. Even you're not that much of a freak!"

I punched her as she giggled again. "Shut up. Can you believe he thought that I wanted him to be my, like, dungeon master?"

"I told you that night at the hospital was a bad idea," she said smugly.

"Yeah, no kidding," I grumbled.

"So you didn't sell anything?" Daphne asked.

I brightened. "Actually, I did! I sold the drawing of Brian, and the one of Cal. They sold for a hundred dollars. A piece."

Daphne's mouth dropped open. "Oh my God! Oh my God, Justin, we need to celebrate!"

"Shh!" I hissed, glancing up at the darkened windows of the house.

Daphne's mouth clamped shut. She jumped up and down, clapping her hands quietly. "That's so exciting!" she whispered.

"I know," I said, a huge smile on my face.

"We'll think of something to do," Daphne assured me. "Anyway, now you've definitely got the money to pay for my fake ID."

I shook my head. "Nah. All the money went to charity."

"Oh." Daphne shrugged. "Well, you'll get the money from somewhere. I know you will."

"So how was Luke?" I asked.

"An absolute angel," Daphne answered, grinning. "Although he does this thing, I don't know if it's new, but he'll stand up? And then he'll just let himself fall. He thinks it's the funniest thing in the world."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. That isn't new. He took a few steps yesterday, holding on to the coffee table, but he's way more interested in falling on his butt."

"Your kid is weird," Daphne declared.

"Well, he had to get something from his mother."

Daphne laughed. "Oh, right. Now finish walking me to my car—I've still got thirty analogies to do before I go to bed."

I walked her to her car and said good night, and then headed back in the house. It was dark and smelled like the chemicalized 'Spring Breeze' air freshener bullshit Mom used whenever she went on one of her intense cleaning kicks. I sneezed twice and then went upstairs to go to bed, even though I wasn't that tired.

I'd rather be asleep than spend one more minute awake in this fucking house.


	6. Crumble

**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 6: Crumble**

"I cannot believe you're doing this."

I grinned and handed over the money. "What? It'll be so cool."

"Weren't you whining that you didn't have the money to pay for my fake ID?" Daphne asked. "And now you're forking over another fifty dollars to get your nipple pierced?"

"You said we should celebrate," I said with a shrug. The cashier handed me my change, and I thanked her.

Daphne rolled her eyes and pushed the stroller away from the counter. "We look like the most dysfunctional family ever."

"What? You don't think they see a lot of strollers in here?" I asked, gesturing to the tattoo-covered walls of the parlor. It smelled like the inside of a Halloween mask, and rock music was blaring from a speaker somewhere, though thankfully not loud enough to bother Luke. "I can't imagine why not."

"You know, I don't think this is going to do a lot to convince Brian that you're not a masochist," Daphne pointed out.

"I'm not doing this for him."

"Of course," Daphne said dryly. "You're doing it for Luke. Your other boyfriend."

"I don't do boyfriends," I replied flippantly.

I was parroting Brian again. And from the look on Daphne's face, she knew it.

"Luke is my one true love," I declared, making my way around to the front of the stroller. I crouched down so I was at eye level with him. "Isn't that right, dude? You and me, two halves of a whole?"

"Two halves of the same chromosomes," Daphne corrected.

"Luke," I said in the lowest, most gravelly voice I could manage. I cupped my hand over my mouth, making slow breathing noises. "I am your father."

Daphne giggled, but Luke's face crumpled a little and tears filled his eyes.

"Aw, it's just me," I told him, grinning and running a hand over his hair. "Don't be a drama queen. Here—you want your hippo?"

Daphne provided me with the hippo a moment later, and I wiggled it around.

"See? Hippo's happy. Hippo's not a little drama queen like you are."

"Justin!" Daphne cried, laughing. "Be nice to him."

But Luke had finally cracked a smile and grabbed the hippo out of my hands, shoving one of the legs into his mouth. He drooled happily.

"Hey kid, you're next," I heard, and I turned around to see a large man with an even larger mustache standing there with the piercing gun in his hand.

"I cannot believe you're doing this," Daphne said again as she followed me, pushing the stroller. "Seriously. If you parents find out..."

"Hey, I could be getting my dick pierced, okay?" I pointed out as I hopped onto the stool.

"Off with the shirt," the guy said, and I obliged.

"You ever pierce someone's dick?" I asked.

The guy shrugged. "Yeah. One or two. Guys usually like Linda to do it, though. She handles genital piercings and tattoos."

"Tattoos?" Daphne and I said together.

Guy grinned. "Yeah. Like, just last night, some lady got the word RESPECT tattooed on her pussy."

I'm not sure which of us looked more horrified.

"So, which nipple?" the guy asked, tearing open the disinfectant wipe packet.

 

"That's disgusting," Molly said, eying the spoonful of squash I was trying to get Luke to eat. "Ew. No wonder he doesn't want to eat it."

"He does," I said patiently, holding the spoon in front of Luke's mouth and following it when he turned his head.

"Nuh-uh."

"Squash used to be your favorite when you were a baby, Molly," Mom interjected. "And Justin always liked the mashed green beans."

I kept my eyes focused on Luke. "C'mon Luke. Open your mouth. Aaaahhhhh..."

I made a face, which caused Luke to giggle, and I shoved the spoon in his mouth.

Luke swallowed and, finally realizing that there was food to be had, opened his mouth for more.

"There we go," I said, grinning. Another spoonful of squash. And another.

Mom quietly cut into her chicken, never cutting down to the bottom so that the knife wouldn't scrape against the plate. She usually tried not to do that because Dad absolutely hated that sound, but tonight she seemed to be extra careful about it. Dad hadn't looked up from his plate since dinner had started, and was almost finished. Molly had been chattering away, oblivious to the tension as always, but now she was taking a break to chew. I hated the thought of being up in my room again, but frankly, anywhere was better than here.

The squash finished, I quickly wolfed down my helping of asparagus before opening up an applesauce-pork-rice mixture for Luke. He'd never had pork before. I'd have to spend the next four days checking for an allergic reaction.

Luke, thinking it was more squash, eagerly opened his mouth. Upon finding out that it was not, he tried to spit it back out. I made him swallow it, and after a few difficult spoonfuls, the applesauce-pork-rice mix was also deemed acceptable, and Luke finished it off.

"I have work to do," Dad said, standing up. "I'll be in my study."

Mom quickly stood up to take his plate and cup into the kitchen.

Molly leaned over as soon as they were both gone and whispered, "What'd you do this time?"

"Tried to sell your kidneys to a drug dealer in Mexico."

"You're a freak."

I smiled. "Luke doesn't think so."

 

As I think I mentioned before, Luke hated bath time. He would cry at the slightest provocation, kick and splash madly, and completely ignore any of the bath toys that I tried to put in the tub with him. So needless to say, I was pretty damn efficient when it came to bathing him.

Into the bath seat, two cups of water over the head, a quick wipe-down with a cloth, another cup of water, shampoo, another cup, and we were done.

"All done!" I told him, lifting him out of the bath seat.

Luke twisted and cried as I transferred him onto the waiting towel. He still hated to be dangled, and he was already upset because of the bath.

Molly banged on the bathroom door. "Are you almost done in there?"

"Give me five minutes, Molly!"

I quickly towel-dried Luke's body, rubbed some lotion on his privates, and then got him into a new diaper and his green sleeper. By the time I had the bathroom cleaned up and I was on my way back to my room, Luke was happily babbling away, the bathtub a distant memory.

"Finally," Molly muttered, shoving past me.

I rolled my eyes and pushed open the door to my room—

Mom and Dad were both sitting on my bed.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

Luke quieted, and I realized that I'd tensed up, tightened my grip on him. I forced myself to relax, but I didn't put him down. I couldn't. The urge to run far, far away was almost overpowering, and if I ran, Luke was coming with me.

"We need to talk about this Brian of yours, Justin," Mom said carefully.

"You told him?" I demanded, while my heart plummeted. No, no, no,  _no_... "You said you wouldn't tell! You promised!"

Mom remained passive. Like always. "I had to tell him. I had no choice."

I clutched Luke to my chest, ignoring his whimpers. I was irrationally afraid that Dad was going to stand up and pull him out of my arms and... and... throw him out the window or something. Dad wanted Luke gone. Mom had just given him the perfect excuse.

"You lied to me!" I said furiously. "You said—"

"I know what I said," Mom interrupted, not raising her voice. "But honey, when I—I saw you last night..."

"You said you were okay with it," I said, panic rising. She'd betrayed me. She'd been lying to me this whole time. She'd tried to support me but then she'd seen me with Brian last night and now she'd decided that there was no way that she could let her son be a faggot—

"Justin, it's not for the reason you think." Mom actually sounded a little desperate, beneath the calm. "It's not right for a man his age to be touching you. Honey, you may think you... love him. But... Oh, Justin, that's exactly what men like him want you to think!"

"Men like him?" I echoed incredulously.

"Perverts," Dad spat.

"Brian's not a pervert!"

In my arms, Luke began to cry. I shushed him hurriedly, glaring at my parents.

"He's an adult, and you're a child," Dad said, with an obvious effort to temper his anger. "It's not only wrong, it's illegal. I could have him arrested."

My mouth dropped open in horror. "You can't!"

"Justin, none of this is your fault," Mom said gently. "We don't blame you. Men like Brian, they know exactly what to say to lure you into their beds. You couldn't have known."

"I did know! He didn't  _lure_  me anywhere—I chased after  _him_. I  _asked_  him to fuck me."

"Jesus Christ!" Dad yelled, jumping to his feet.

I took a step back, my arms tightening around Luke protectively, but Dad just stalked over to the window.

"Craig, you promised you'd stay calm," Mom said, watching him from the bed.

"I am calm," he half-snarled. After a couple of breaths, he turned around to face me, notably calmer. "What about AIDS?"

"He wore a condom," I said evenly. "I put it on him myself."

Mom put her head in her hands. "Oh, Justin..."

"I can't listen to this," Dad muttered. "I'm calling the police."

"You're not calling anybody," Mom countered, bringing her head up. "The last thing we need is for everyone to know."

"Oh, yes, that's the last thing we need!" I said hotly. "I really don't think your reputation could take another hit—your son gets a girl pregnant, your son is raising his bastard child in your house, your son is gay, your son has a twenty-nine year old male lover! You—"

"HE IS NOT YOUR LOVER," Dad roared, suddenly  _there_  with his hands on my shoulders. "He's a _child molester,_  Justin!"

"Craig, let him go," Mom said sharply, rising off the bed. "Craig!"

"I'm not a child, and he didn't molest me," I retorted, pulling myself free. Luke was fairly sobbing by now, and I was shaking with fury. "I love him. I want to be with him."

"Justin," Mom said desperately, "a boy your own age would be—"

"There will be no boys at all!" Dad cried. "I won't have it in this household!"

"What your father means," Mom said, as my mouth opened in outrage, "is that we think some time away from Brian would do you some good. Help you... see things clearer. We just want you to be safe and happy, honey. That's all we want."

"I feel safe and happy when I'm with Brian. I can't remember the last time I felt  _safe_  or  _happy_  in this house." I was resolute, trembling with suppressed rage. "You can't stop me from seeing him. You won't."

"The hell we can't!"

"Craig," Mom snapped. She turned to me. "Justin, we'll talk about this later. This conversation is not over."

Dad stalked out of the room and Mom followed at a more sedate pace, but neither one of them looked back. Across the hall, I saw Molly's head poking out of the bathroom, but for once she didn't have a snide remark for me. Her eyes were wide, and as soon as she realized that I had seen her, she slammed the door shut.

I shut my own door, Luke still wailing in my arms, and set about calming him down.

His face was a mess, wet with snot and tears and drool, but I let him bury it into my shirt anyway, rubbing circles into his back and speaking softly. His hair had dried from his bath, soft and downy. I moved my hand up from his back to the back of his head, stroking his hair.

After a few minutes he'd finally quieted down to a few snuffles, and I reached for a wipe for his face. I'd have to change my shirt, no doubt.

As I wiped his face, he was already drifting off. Luke had cried himself to sleep.

I set him in his crib and then fell down on my own bed, burying my face in my pillow. I fought back the initial wave of sorrow, willed myself not to cry, and successfully pushed it all back. I would not cry. I wasn't some stupid little faggot who cried because his daddy didn't love him anymore—I was stronger than that. I was. Because beyond the sadness and the despair, there was a steel core of determination, and it was white hot with fury.

 

The idea of leaving Luke alone in the house with my mother, when my father could come home at any point, made me simultaneously terrified and furious, so I took care of that first. Luckily, gym was second period.

"Hey, Taylor, aren't you gonna take a shower?" Chris Hobbes called.

I glanced up, turning just so that he would see my chest. "I have to finish a paper for Nessler. You know what a bitch she is."

"Don't you wanna check out all the other guys' dicks?" he taunted. "I know how much you like that."

And then his eyes went down.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Nipple ring," I said casually, standing up and walking away.

Chris grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back. "Where'd you get it?"

"Piercing parlor on Liberty Avenue," I said, lying.

"Shit!" Chris let me go with a shove. "You really are queer!"

"What's a nipple ring got to do with being queer?" I asked.

Chris smirked. "'Cause your fudge-packing friends like to pull on it while they're buttfucking you. That why you got it?"

"How do you know so much about what faggots do, unless you are one yourself?" I shot back.

That did it.

The next thing I knew, Chris was shoving me against the locker, but I was ready and my fist swung, punching him in the jaw. Seconds later there was an explosion of pain in my face, and then my head slammed back into the lockers, creating a second explosion of pain.

Reeling, I ducked down out of his grasp and tried to punch him in the stomach, but I was pulled back. He was pulled back. People were shouting, jeering, but all I could hear was the dull roar in my ears. I'd instigated this fight to get out of school, but it was real fury I was feeling now. I wanted to bash his stupid, homophobic face in.

"Come on!" Chris was screaming, held back by arms attached to bodies I wasn't seeing. "Motherfucking bitch!"

"You'd like me to be your bitch, wouldn't you?" I yelled back, an odd wetness in my mouth. "You'd like to shove your dick up my ass, let me suck your cock—"

"I'm gonna fucking kill you!" Chris raged, straining against the arms hold him back. "You fucker! I'll kill you!"

I spat, and blood went flying across the locker room.

Chris roared and almost sprang loose—a guy went flying off of him and across the locker room—when a massive body intercepted him and blew his whistle.

Mr. Rube, our bodybuilder of a gym teacher, held Chris in place easily. He glanced at me. "You. Get in my office before you get killed."

I was released from the arms around me. I didn't dare disobey a direct order from Mr. Rube, especially not right now, and I walked out of the locker room silently. I was still shooting on adrenaline, my ears still roaring, but I was high on the fact that I'd done it at all. I'd picked a fight, and I'd lived to get punished.

Mission accomplished.

 

"Suspended for two days!" Mom cried from the front seat.

I grinned at Luke as best I could with my split lip and aching jaw. "Did you hear that? I'm gonna be home for two whole days, dude!"

"Justin, this is serious," she said, irritated. "This is going to be on your record when you apply to college!"

Her country club unflappability really had taken a dive over the last few days.

I raised my eyebrows. "I'm sorry. You're still under the impression that I'm going away to college?"

"Oh, and I can just  _imagine_  what your father's going to do when he hears about this," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Fuck him," I said.

In his car seat, Luke was gnawing on the leg of his hippo again, drool running down his chin.

"Honestly, Justin!" she exclaimed. "What were you thinking? Did you think this was going to help? As if things weren't bad enough!"

Well, yes. This certainly wasn't going to make life at home any sunnier. But at least when I was at home, I would be with Luke, and that was the point. I couldn't let anything happen to him.

"I'm not sorry," I said obstinately.

Mom sighed. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

 

I was up in my room writing an essay on  _As I Lay Dying_  when Molly appeared in the doorway with a bag of Oreos.

"Mom says—"

I lifted an urgent finger to my lips, slicing my hand through the air,

Molly rolled her eyes and lowered her voice. "Mom says I'm supposed to watch Luke, and that you're needed downstairs in the family room, please."

"You are not watching him!" I hissed.

She eyed the crib. "What's there to do, anyway? He's just sleeping. You're not even looking at him."

"That's not the point. You're nine."

"Mom said it's fine. And she says it important."

"Mom isn't Luke's mother," I said under my breath, but I pushed back my chair and stood up. I grabbed one of Molly's hands as it reached into the Oreo bag. "Molly, I'm serious here. If Luke wakes up, or if he's breathing funny, or if he starts to sniffle— _anything_  other than sleep peacefully, you come and get me. Yell for me at the top of the stairs. I don't care what you hear downstairs, or what you think you're interrupting. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Molly said, looking a little sulky that there wasn't anything more she could say. She tossed her hair. "Now let go, or I'll cry."

I let her hand go, and she plopped down on my bed happily.

It wasn't the best of situations, but I had a feeling that my parents weren't going to take no for an answer. I also knew that if we were going to solve anything, it wasn't going to be with Luke crying in my arms. So I took one last look at Luke and then ventured downstairs, where I found Mom and Dad seated on the couch and waiting for me.

I threw myself into the chair across from them. "You summoned?"

Mom took in a deep breath. "Justin, we need to have a serious discussion. A mature discussion. I feel like we all handled last night badly, and I want to try to work things out before they get even worse."

That gave me pause. "Okay," I said slowly.

'Mature discussion' could either mean that they were willing to listen to me and work with me, or it could mean that they expected me to be 'mature' about accepting and obeying their decisions.

"We can't go on like this," Mom said frankly. "These last few weeks have been hard on us all, and it's damaging our family. Something needs to change."

"Like what?" I asked, with only a hint of moodiness. "My sexuality? Luke's guardian?"

"Justin," Mom said, giving me a warning look.

Right. Mature.

"Sorry," I muttered.

Dad, for his part, was sitting silently next to Mom with a stony look on his face.

"Honey, for a seventeen-year-old boy, you've been dealing with so much—the death of your friend, your sudden fatherhood, the... the discovery of your sexuality, falling in love... It's so much. It's too much. And we haven't been doing anything to make it easier on you, have we?"

Slowly, I shook my head. I was wary. She was right, and she seemed sympathetic, but where was she going with this?

Mom smiled at me. "You deserve a few more happy years before you have to become an adult. The only things you should be worrying about now are you SATs, your college applications, and having to take the garbage out. But lately, you've been on such a fast track to growing up."

"We feel like you need to take a step back, Justin," Dad suddenly spoke up, his tone gentler than I'd heard it in ages.

"What does that mean?" I asked, frowning.

Mom and Dad glanced at each other.

"We think it would be best," Mom finally said, "if you went away to school for the rest of your senior year."

My mouth dropped. " _What?_ "

Mom raised a hand. "Now hear me out, Justin. It would be a fine arts school, where you could go as an artist. Meet other people who share your passion, your talent."

"You'll still be going to an Ivy League for college, of course," Dad reassured me. "Don't worry about that. Lots of students from fine arts programs get into business programs at Yale and Dartmouth."

"I can't just leave!" I protested. "And maybe I don't want to be a business major."

Dad's eyebrow shot up, but Mom beat him to it.

"Then you don't have to be," she said calmly. "The other part of this, Justin, is that we would find a family in Pittsburgh to raise Luke, and it would be an open adoption. You could see him whenever you like, receive updates and photos and—"

"No," I said flatly.

"Honey, you can't raise Luke and go to college. This is the only compromise we could think of," Mom explained patiently. "I know that you don't want to give him up, but it's—"

"How about," I said, "I go the college part time in Pittsburgh, at PIFA? And don't allow my son to lose both of his parents."

"PIFA?" Dad repeated incredulously.

"Yes. That's the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts. Maybe you've heard of it?"

Dad snorted. "And what do you do with a degree from there?"

"Become an artist! It's what I want to do."

"What your father is trying to say," Mom forcefully cut in, "is that being an artist is not a secure lifestyle, Justin. We want you to live comfortably, and going to a fine arts institute may not insure that. Maybe you could double major in art and something else, at a regular school?"

"It won't be the same," I said, shaking my head. "PIFA is one of the leading art institutes in the world. I'd get training there that I couldn't get at a school like Yale. I mean, art majors? Don't go to Yale."

"PIFA is also very hard to get into," Mom pointed out. "What if they don't accept you?"

I threw my hands up. "I don't know! I guess I won't go there, then. But I'm not giving Luke up for adoption, and I'm staying at St. James. Anyway, I can't abandon Daphne in our senior year."

"What do you suggest, then?" Dad asked. "You've gone wild. You're getting into fights at school, going to bars, sleeping with...  _Christ_. Justin. Please, I just want my son back. That's all I want."

"I  _am_  your son," I said stubbornly. "I'm your queer son who has a kid. That's me. That's who I am, Dad. I'm sorry that who I am ruins your reputation at the country club."

"Justin, it isn't about our reputation with our friends," Mom insisted, leaning forward. "It's about you. We're concerned about  _you_."

"Understand something, Justin," Dad said seriously, looking me in the eye. "When you hurt, I hurt. When you make bad decisions, your mother and I, we hurt because those bad decisions are going to hurt you someday. Raising a child is only hurting you. It's denying you your youth, your college experience... So much more than you realize."

Mom nodded in agreement.

"And this homosexuality business?" Dad suddenly added. "It's hurting you, too. I know that things have been difficult for you since we found out about Luke, and I know that I was hard on you. But I didn't realize that I'd driven you so far as to do  _that_  as a cry for attention. And I'm sorry for that, Justin. But this whole mess with Kinney and you being 'gay' is only going to end in disaster. And I don't want that for you."

Ringing silence.

"Is that what you think?" I asked, struggling to speak.

"Craig, I don't—"

"Jennifer, we're getting somewhere," Dad interrupted, focusing on me. "Justin, it's okay. You have my attention now, it's okay. You can stop."

"I have your attention?" I repeated. My voice trembled.

Dad nodded.

"Good, then listen to what I'm about to say," I said, standing up.

Mom's eyes widened.

"Fuck. You." My voice shook with rage. " _Fuck_  you. I'm gay, Dad. I'm not acting out. I'm not going through a phase. Sending me off to boarding school isn't going to make me go straight. If anything, I'll be getting fucked even more, because at a fine arts boarding school, there are gonna be more fags per square meter than there are on a Friday night at Babylon. And I  _like_  getting fucked, Dad. I love it. I love the feeling of a giant cock up my ass, ramming into me, push—"

" _Stop!_ " Dad bellowed, leaping off the couch and clutching his head in his hands. "Jesus! I don't want to fucking hear that, Justin!"

"Craig, sit down and stop yelling," Mom said sternly. "Justin, sit down and stop acting like a spoiled child. We're having a mature discussion."

"No, we're not," Dad said furiously, rounding on me. "Not until he decides to stop being an obnoxious  _shit_  and lets us help him!"

"I don't need help!" I yelled back, my hands clenched into fists.

"Justin, you're a victim. You need counseling, you need therapy—whatever it takes, I'll pay for it!"

"Why is it so hard for you to accept the fact that I'm queer?" I demanded. "Why?"

"Because you're _not!_  There is no queerness in this family, I won't have it!"

"You know, most homophobic tendencies stem from repressed homosexual urges," I said with a nasty grin. "Something you wanna tell us, Dad?"

He smacked me.

"Craig!" Mom screamed, rocketing off the sofa, but I held out a hand to stop her.

"I'm fine," I said, my eyes never leaving Dad's. "It didn't hurt."

My face throbbed from the assault to my previous bruising, but I barely felt it. I felt like I was back in the locker room with Chris—I was high on adrenaline, a roaring in my ears, a fury like none other pounding in my veins.

Dad looked shell-shocked.

"I guess I'm no longer part of this family, then," I told him, with faux calm. "I'll take my queerness and leave, and I won't let the door hit me on the way out."

And then I turned on my heel and marched out of the room.

 

Mom apologized. She begged and pleaded and followed me around, insisting that she didn't agree with Dad, that she understood that I was gay and didn't want to change me and that Dad would come around soon... But I ignored her and went about my night without speaking to either one of my parents. Finally, around eight, she gave up and dragged Dad into the bedroom where they began a heated but quiet discussion.

I knew that nothing would come of it.


	7. Slide

**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 7: Slide**

Daphne arrived twenty minutes after I called her, and by then I had already packed Luke and mine's bare essentials into his diaper bag, my backpack and a duffel bag. Molly was riveted on the television in her room and didn't notice as Daphne and I snuck my bags down the stairs and out to her car, and Mom and Dad were still 'discussing' things in their room. We transferred the car seat from Mom's car into Daphne's. I crept back upstairs and taped a note to my door that read, "If you want to understand me, call Debbie Novotny" with her phone number scrawled at the bottom.

I knew they wouldn't call, but it was worth a shot anyway.

Then I grabbed my jacket, took Luke from his crib and made my way out to where Daphne was idling by the car.

Luke remained blessedly asleep throughout the whole thing, and as we drove I told Daphne about the fight I'd had with my parents last night, my fistfight with Chris Hobbs in the locker room and my subsequent suspension, and then my final conversation with my parents earlier this evening. I finished just as we were pulling into her driveway.

"God, Justin."

I hadn't seen her look so solemn since the night Sara had died.

And suddenly, I wanted Brian. I needed him. There was a solid layer of ice over my emotions, preventing me from feeling, and I hated, hated, hated it just like I had that night at the hospital. I needed him to break through that again, break me so that the emotions could bleed through and I could feel again.

"I mean," Daphne said slowly, "I just can't believe that your dad thinks... Just. God. And he hit you!"

"It didn't hurt," I said quickly, pulling my thoughts away from Brian. "I mean, he's been rough the last few times we've fought, shaking me or pulling me, but I can handle it. It's just that Luke can't, and he shouldn't have to. Dad shouldn't think it's okay to hurt people when he's angry, and if he ever got angry with Luke..."

Daphne killed the engine, turning to stare at me.

I sighed. "Shit. Where am I going to go?"

"As much as my parents would love having a teenaged boy and progeny living in my room," Daphne said with a small giggle, "I don't think that's going to work out. What about that Debbie lady?"

I shook my head. "No way. She'd send me back to my parents. I can't go to her."

"Is there some kind of shelter?" Daphne suggested.

"Not that I know of," I said, shaking my head again. "Except a homeless shelter, but there's no way I'm putting Luke in an environment like that."

Daphne bit her lip in thought.

"Brian," I said, unable to stop myself.

She turned wide eyes to me. "Justin, there's no way he'd take you in."

"No, but he'd help," I said quietly. I needed him in me, right now, because if I had to feel like this another second longer, I was going to  _scream_.

I took in a deep breath, steadying my thoughts.

If—when Brian found out about Luke, it was going to be over. But I needed him. Just once more. There was no one else who could help me right now, not like he could.

And I would need him in the future, but he wouldn't be there because I had to put Luke first, and that meant giving up on Brian. He would find out, push me away, and I couldn't afford to spend the energy to chase after him. I'd have to focus on Luke. I was going to have to drop out of school and start working, find a place to live, find Luke a place to be while I worked...

It was all happening so fast. It seemed to be rushing by me, leaving me behind, my fingers unable to find purchase because of the icy layer of shock and disbelief that was coating everything I did. I couldn't grab on. I couldn't feel. I was falling further and further behind, and there was nothing I could do.

Luke had to come first, now.

But I could take twenty more minutes for myself. What would it hurt?

"Drop me off at Brian's loft," I told her. "Take Luke back here, put him between two pillows on your bed and make sure he doesn't roll too much. It's going to take a while to convince Brian to help me, and I don't think there's going to be an immediate solution. I'll probably end up coming back here for the night, anyway."

Daphne frowned. "Why don't you take Luke with you?"

"Because I want the chance to say goodbye."

Twenty more minutes for myself. Then it would all be for Luke.

"Justin," Daphne said softly.

But I wasn't even close to crying.

I wasn't feeling at all.

"I need to say goodbye to him, and I don't want Luke around if he gets angry when I tell him. Which he will. So it's just easier if Luke stays here," I explained calmly. "And I'll call you when I need to be picked up."

"What if your parents call looking for you?" Daphne asked.

"Tell them I'm with Debbie Novotny. They have her number," I told her.

Daphne stared at me a moment longer, and then suddenly grabbed me and pulled me into an awkward, seat-belt-restrained, cross-seat hug.

"Daphne," I said, when she didn't let go after an entire minute.

"Sorry," she said, letting me go. There was a slightly sheepish grin on her face. "Okay. Let's go."

 

"What if he isn't home?" Daphne asked as I pushed my door open.

It hadn't occurred to me, but I glanced up and saw that the windows of the loft were lit up. "He's there."

"What if he has company?" Daphne pressed.

I shrugged. "Then I'll take a number and wait."

I climbed out of the car. Daphne rolled down the back window so that I could lean in and say goodbye to Luke, although he was still asleep.

"Bye, little dude," I said softly, brushing a finger against Luke's cheek. "I love you."

"Good luck," Daphne said.

"Thanks."

She glanced at me one last time, and then rolled the window up. I waved goodbye and watched her pull back into traffic and drive down the street. Daphne lived about five minutes away from the loft, directly east, while I lived fifteen minutes south of it, which made me the hypotenuse in the triangle between the three.

Right. And again with math being uncool.

I inhaled and walked over to the building, pressing down on the buzzer. And then again, for a good measure.

"What?" Brian's cranky voice came a minute later.

"It's Justin," I said into the microphone. "Um, sorry if you have company. I promise I'm not here to annoy you."

"Are you breathing?" Brian asked sardonically, but a second later I heard the door unlock.

I grinned and yanked the door open, and then raced up the stairs. I barely noticed them flying under my feet. My heart was pounding and there was that roaring in my ears again—Brian was going to fuck me. He was going to fuck me so hard it would rip me in two, and then I'd be broken open and I'd be able to feel again. Emotion would come gushing out of me like blood, red and raw and sticky, and I would know I was alive. He was going to be inside me. He was going to pound into my ass and break me in half.

I pounded on the door, shifting from one foot to the other. Brian, Brian, Brian, Brian...

The door opened and I threw myself at him.

Brian stumbled back but quickly recovered as my arms came around him, mouth firmly locked on his, and  _oh_. Oh, this was it. This was what I needed.

I opened my mouth wider, pushing and pulsing and grabbing, needing to be pushed back—and Brian delivered in spades. He gripped my waist, backing me against the wall and claiming my mouth. Claiming it. One of his hands was kneading the back of my neck and the other was on my lower stomach, coming up my shirt and splaying over my stomach.

He kissed me hard, and I was lost. So lost.

I stood there, drowning, letting him claim me with kisses and touches for I don't know how long. I was so lost in the rapture of it all that it took me several seconds to realize that he'd stopped.

"Wh—what?" I stammered, opening my eyes to see what he was doing. There was still a hand on the back of my neck.

Brian was studying me intently, hazel eyes dark. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I need you to fuck me."

It was the only thing that came to mind.

"So does the rest of Liberty Avenue," Brian drawled. He was holding me in place with the hand on my neck. His other hand snaked up my shirt, lightly tracing patterns on my stomach. "What makes you so special?"

"I'm self-medicating with sex," I said breathlessly. "Figured I should do it with someone I trust."

Brian went still. "Like that night at the hospital?"

I shook my head. "No. Yes. Whatever you want, I don't care, I just need you inside me. Please, Brian."

His hand traveled down my belly and to the hem of my jeans, slipping inside and going lower, lower—

"Ah!" I gasped, my head going back and my hips bucking involuntarily. "Please..."

"Since you asked so nicely," Brian finally said, and then he jerked me away from the wall and in the direction of the sofa. I turned around quickly, closing my mouth over his and gripping his shoulders, and—the world dropped away. It didn't matter that I wasn't feeling, that I was panicked and hurt and furious somewhere below my layers of shock, because Brian was here. Kissing me. Holding me. Touching me.

My fingers were unbuttoning his shirt as I felt his arms slide up my t-shirt, fingertips brushing lightly against my ribs, and I broke the kiss to gasp. Brian tugged and my arms went up.

Off with the t-shirt.

In one smooth movement, Brian was out of his shirt, and then his hands were on my pants.

"Ah—Brian!" I choked out as his fingers brushed against my aching cock. Even through the material of my pants, it sent a shock straight down to my balls and I threw my head back, toes curling in pleasure. "Ah..."

Inarticulate, I gasped and moaned as Brian sucked at my neck. I was vaguely aware that my pants had been pushed down, but I didn't care. There was only Brian. Brian everywhere, on my neck and my chest and my cock—

He shoved me back and I fell over the leg of the sofa, landing on the cushion on my back, now only in my underwear.

Brian's grin was predatory. He pushed down his jeans and actually, quite literally,  _pounced_.

"Your sofa—" I managed to get out.

"Get any cum on this furniture and I'll make sure you don't sit down for a week," Brian growled, nipping at my collarbone and then licking, sucking.

My cock throbbed, and I whimpered.

"You want my tongue in your ass?" Brian asked. "You want..."

He stopped, mouth having encountered my new nipple ring. He lifted his head slightly, surveying it.

"Like it?" I asked.

"It makes you look like a trashy hustler," Brian muttered.

The next thing I knew his mouth was on it, teeth tugging at the metal and tongue lapping at the piercing, sucking and pulling and twisting, and I was  _writhing_. My mouth may have been open and sounds may have been escaping, but I wasn't registering any of it. There was pain and pleasure twined together, shooting from my nipple and through my chest, and there was a hand closing around my cock, large and strong, and I bucked my hips frantically.

"Now, now," Brian said, suddenly dropping the ring from his teeth. "Not all at once, princess."

I fell back, panting. The world reappeared. The numbness crept back in with slow, cold, creeping tentacles.

"Fuck me," I demanded. "Fuck me  _now_."

Brian grinned. "Are you sure you don't want a rimjob first?"

I growled and stuffed my hand in between the cushions, praying that my hunch was right. My head was slowing, no longer spinning out of control, and I could almost think again. I was frantic to escape.

My hunch was right.

I drew a foil packet from between the cushions and tore it open, pulling the condom out. My eyes went up to meet Brian's, who was watching me with renewed interest, and then I looked back down and grabbed his cock, rolling the condom on.

"And what do you—"

I wriggled underneath him, pushing my hips up and working a hand underneath me. Desperate to speed things along, I pushed two fingers inside my hole.

I arched, hissing. Oh,  _shit_. Pain tore up my ass, straight to my pelvis, and I was absolutely, utterly still. I couldn't breathe. The pain was in waves, agonizing, waves, and why wasn't there lube? Where was the lube? I didn't dare move my fingers because the slightest twitch my fingers made me see white.

And then there was something cold at the base of my fingers, and my mouth moved soundlessly. Lube. Brian had lube.

He pulled my fingers out and shoved one of his own, lube-covered finger in, and I let out a choked sound of relief, almost collapsing down on the sofa. Tears were leaking down the side of my face, and I prayed that Brian didn't notice. Jesus. That was the last time I ever tried  _that_.

Brian's finger was gentle and cool, knowing the exactly angle to push at to create stirrings of pleasure, and after a few seconds the pain was all but forgotten and I was begging him for the second. This was right. This was  _Brian._

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," I chanted as he scissored his fingers, pushing against muscles and spreading me open. "Ooooooo _fuckme_."

"Such a little slut," Brian laughed, breath hot on my stomach. "Listen to you. One would think that you were never a stumbling little virgin, talking about Cheerios and complimenting my kitchen."

"Will you shut up and fuck me?" I asked through clenched teeth.

Brian laughed again. "Patience, grasshopper."

"I'm ready."

"No, you're not."

" _Bri-aaaan_..."

He smirked, and then slowly slid in a third finger.

I arched, gasping, but it still wasn't enough. "Okay. That's good. I'm ready, fucking fuck me already."

But rather than propelling him into action, my words made him stop.

"What?" I demanded, trying to move my hips, but his free hand lay flat on them and held me in place. "Fucking come  _on_  already."

"Justin," Brian said, suddenly sounding serious.

Alarm bells went off in my head. He wasn't going to fuck me. I wasn't going to get him tonight, and I needed him, oh, I needed him tonight because this was goodbye—

"Are you sure you're self-medicating with sex, and not pain?" he asked.

In my panic, I didn't register his words for a few seconds.

"Wh—no!" I protested, pushing myself up on my elbows. "I told you, I'm not into pain. I just need you inside of me right the fuck  _now_  and I'd rather have it hurt a little than have to wait. I just need you in me so bad, Brian, I can't even think straight. I need you. Just for tonight. One last time. Please, please, just fuck me already,  _please_..."

My brain was on overdrive, unable to believe that after everything I'd sacrificed, everything I was going to lose, I couldn't have this. I couldn't have Brian inside of me one last time. I  _needed_  him. I was beyond desperate.

Brian looked uncomfortable, and slowly slid his fingers out of my ass. "I think—"

"Fuck thinking," I hissed, sitting up and pushing him back.

Taken by surprise, Brian fell back against the arm of the sofa and I quickly straddled him, taking his cock into my hand. He'd prepared me. I was ready, he was hard, and I was going to have him one way or another.

"Justin, stop."

"Tell me you don't want this," I demanded, raising myself up above his cock. "Tell me you don't love being in my tight little ass."

"Justin—"

I needed it. I was so close, so close—

"Justin!"

Brian grabbed at my hips and jerked me roughly, causing me to lose my balance and fall forward, but I had no sooner landed on him than he twisted and threw me off. I was airborne for a second, and then I landed on the floor next to the sofa, pain exploding in my shoulder and hip, my head knocking into the hardwood floor a second later.

The world spun.

I lay there, feeling emotion surging through my veins for the first time in hours, and I thought that maybe I was crying. The ice had been shattered.

"Jesus, fuck," I heard Brian breathe.

God.

"I'm sorry," I gasped, fighting for breath. Maybe I wasn't crying. My face was dry. But what noise was I making then, if it wasn't sobbing? "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."

"What the fuck is the  _matter_  with you?"

"I'm sorry," I said again, this time opening my eyes. I rolled onto my back, feeling my shoulder and hip protest the movement, but the emotions coursing through me were lifting me up, making me untouchable. Making me high. But—oh, God. I'd run away from home. I was giving up my education, my future, my family, my... Brian. I was giving up everything. Oh, God. Oh, God.

"I need a fucking drink," Brian said, pushing himself off the couch and walking naked over to the kitchen.

I stared at the ceiling. What had I done? The cord of hope I'd been clinging to for months had finally snapped—or had I cut it myself?—and now I was plummeting down, down into some dark abyss where no one was waiting to catch me.

I was alone, now.

Or at least, I would be. I still had one more tie to cut.

And there would be no goodbye fuck.

I opened my mouth, not knowing what to say but needing to say  _something_ , when Brian's phone suddenly went off on the counter. I shut my mouth and watched him answer.

"Kinney," he said, holding the bottle of Beam in his left hand.

A pause.

"What the  _fuck?_  How the—"

Another pause.

Brian turned around to stare at me. "It's for you."

I knew from his expression that I was in trouble. It stopped mattering to me as soon as I realized that it must be Daphne on the phone, and that she'd only be calling if it was an emergency.

And that was when I realized that I'd fucked up. Fucking hell. I should have never left Luke alone, not tonight, not even to take twenty minutes for myself. Shit!

"Shit," I swore out loud, pushing myself up off the ground and meeting Brian halfway across the loft, tearing the phone out of his hand. "Daph, what's wrong? What happened?"

Luke was crying in the background. Oh,  _God..._

"Luke's fine. He's fine, Justin, he's just crying because the phone woke him up," Daphne reassured me.

I swayed with relief. Luke was okay.

"Why are you calling?" I asked. Something else occurred to me. "What do you mean, the phone woke him?"

"Your mom called, like, two minutes ago. The phone woke him up, and he was crying, and I know you said to tell them you were with Debbie but Luke was crying, and I couldn't do anything about it. She knows that he's here, Justin! She thinks  _you're_  here!"

"Fuck," I swore, bringing a hand up to my head and trying to think. Mom knew where Luke was. She thought that I was there with him, and she and Dad would be there soon to drag us both back home. And there was no way that Daphne's parents would side with me, nice people though they were. "Fuck, I—I'll be there as soon as I can. Do  _not_  let them take him."

"And my parents want to know what's going on," Daphne said. "What am I supposed to tell them?

I cast my mind about. "I don't know. Tell them whatever. I'll see you in a few."

"Okay," Daphne said nervously.

I shut the phone and abruptly saw Brian standing in front of me, still naked, bottle of Beam forgotten in his hand.

"I need you to take me to Daphne's," I told him, handing him his phone. "Now. It's an emergency."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me? Why don't we rewind to the fact that you have my cell phone number, and that you gave it out to the rest of the Powerpuff Girls?"

"I left home, today," I said bluntly, ignoring his last suggestion.

"Don't fucking tell me you were planning on living with me, because I sure as fuck—"

I cut him off. "I have a nine-month-old son. His name is Luke. My parents think that if they force me to put him up for adoption and send me off to boarding school, I'll turn straight and their reputations at the country club will be restored. I don't have anywhere to go, but I thought that you might have a few ideas, so I left Luke with Daphne and came to see you."

Tie. Cut.

Brian knew, and he was never going to fuck me again.

"Funny," Brian said, after a long moment of silence. "I thought you were saying 'fuck me' over there on the sofa, not 'help me find a place for my kid and I to live'."

I swallowed. "Please. I need to get to Daphne's before my parents do. If they get Luke..."

Brian exhaled, and then set down the bottle of Beam. "Fuck. I did  _not_  sign up for this shit."

"I  _know!_ " I shouted, suddenly furious. "I fucking know that! Why do you think I didn't tell you? I came here to say goodbye, because I knew the minute you found out about Luke, you'd never fuck me again—but I'm sacrificing everything for him, and if it was all for nothing, then—then I don't know what I'll do. So help me, goddammit!"

"Get your fucking clothes on," Brian muttered, brushing past me.

I was about to open my mouth to yell some more when I realized that he was reaching for his jeans.

"Are you driving me?" I asked hesitantly.

Brian gave me an irritated look. "Yes, I'm fucking driving you. Get your fucking clothes on before I fucking change my mind."

"Thank you," I breathed, racing over to where my underwear was stuck between the cushions of the couch. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. I swear to God, after tonight, you'll never have to see me again. I'll stay away. I'll never step foot on Liberty Avenue again, I'll—"

Brian grabbed me by the back of my neck and spun me around, crushing my mouth into a kiss. When he finally pulled back, I was completely out of breath, my eyes wide.

"Just... shut up and get your clothes on," he said, releasing me.

I nodded and complied, pulling my shirt over my head and buttoning my jeans. I grabbed my jacket off the ground and slid my feet into my sneakers, and I heard the sound of keys being plucked off the counter.

I wanted to continue to babble my thanks, but Brian was already tense and he'd asked me to shut up once. I followed him silently out of the loft, and waited as he set the alarm and locked the door behind us.

"So," Brian said as we pounded down the stairs. "You have a kid. Where the fuck is its mother?"

"Dead," I said bluntly. "She died over a month ago. That's why I was at the hospital that night. She was the one raising him."

Three flights of stairs left. Why couldn't Brian have lived on the first floor?

"Sara thought that she was a lesbian," I told him as we rounded down to the next flight of stairs. "I thought I was gay. We fucked. She got pregnant."

Two flights of stairs.

"Was she?" Brian asked.

"What?"

"A lesbian."

I shook my head. "No. She thought cock was the best thing ever. But  _ew_. I never wanna see another pussy again."

Brian flashed a grin. "I'm glad that, even in crisis, you have your priorities straight."

"I wouldn't say straight, exactly..."

I was grinning. My parents were going to be arriving at Daphne's to take away Luke at any moment, and I was grinning. What the hell was wrong with me?

We finally reached the ground floor, and I surged ahead, pushing open the door. "Which way are you parked?"

"Left," Brian said, striding past me. I scrambled to catch up.

"I'm sorry about... that," I said as we walked down the dark sidewalk. It was almost ten at night. "Up there. I didn't mean to be so out of control."

"Sorry's—"

"Bullshit," I finished with him. "Yeah."

We finished the rest of the walk to the Jeep in silence. I kept my head down and made my way over to the passenger side, waiting for the sound of the automatic locks going up. I knew that I could just swing into it, of course, but it was common courtesy, and Brian was pissed enough—

And then I heard him.

"Hey—you fucking pervert!"

I looked up in time to see Dad's follow-through swing and Brian go sprawling onto the sidewalk, all illuminated by the streetlight above us.

"Dad!" I yelled, running to get around the car and back to Brian.

Dad was kicking him furiously, yelling something I wasn't even listening to, and Brian was curled up in a fetal position on the cement. I used running momentum to knock Dad away from him, grabbing him around the chest as his arms immediately came up to shove me away, but he was stronger. I went stumbling back.

Brian was picking himself up off the ground.

"Dad, no!"

I came at him from the side, ramming my shoulder into his, and he stumbled off course.

Brian, now fully upright, charged at him, swinging his fist.

"Stop!" I screamed, trying to push myself in the middle of the fight. I caught an elbow from the stomach for my efforts—I don't even know whose it was—but I kept fighting to get in between them, grabbing arms and shoving at their chests. They were both so fucking  _strong_. "Fucking stop it already!"

"Justin, get out of the way," Dad grunted, and then he shoved me out of the way so hard that I fell to the ground.

I scrambled back to my feet, head spinning, when a sickening crack made me whirl around.

Brian had crumpled to his knees and was swaying dangerously.

"You see, Justin?" Dad called, standing over Brian like some triumphant warrior. He looked positively elated. "Do you see? He's not such a man, now, is he?"

People were gathering.

Heart pounding, I stood shakily in front of Brian. "He's more of a man than you'll ever be! And I love him, more than I could ever love you."

Dad flinched at that, taking a step back. "Justin. How can you stand up for that—that—" He gestured hopelessly. "For God's sake! Think about Luke!"

"I am!" I retorted. "And I don't want him to be raised in a household where he isn't free to love whoever he wants to. I'm not coming home."

Dad leveled a finger at me. "Justin, if you don't come home, we  _will_  put Luke up for adoption and you will  _never_  see him again. Do you understand?"

"Luke is mine!" I exploded, shoving him roughly. "I'm never coming home, and you will never fucking touch Luke again! Fuck you! Just—fuck you! Get the  _fuck_ out of here!"

For a second, I thought that Dad was going to start laying into me like he'd done Brian, but then he just scowled and stormed off into the small crowd of people that had gathered.

Ignoring them, I knelt down next to Brian, who hadn't made any move to rise from his knees.

"Brian?" I asked softly.

There was blood coming out of his nose, running down his face and onto his neck, and his eyes were more cloudy than I'd ever seen—and I'd seen Brian pretty fucked up before.

"Brian, come on," I said, my voice shaking. "Stand up. Can you stand up?"

I helped him to his feet, and he swayed dangerously.

"Do you want me to call 911?" someone asked.

"It's okay," I said, shaking my head.

Brian staggered into the street as I led him around the car. He was breathing oddly, and there was no way he was fully conscious right now, otherwise he'd be madly asserting his personal mobility. I stuck a hand in his pocket, retrieving the keys to the Jeep. I unlocked the door and let him in.

I did his seat-belt for him and then got in on the driver's side, jamming the keys into the ignition.

Next to me, Brian's head lolled a little, his eyes half-shut. It was mostly his seat-belt keeping him upright.

My father was in much better shape. And if he took the time to call my mother, he'd know where Luke was.

"Fuck," I swore. I reached over and fished around Brian's jacket pockets, murmuring an apology as he groaned in pain, until I finally found his cell phone. I flipped it open and punched in Daphne's number.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Hey, it's me."

"Where are you? You said you'd only be a few minutes!"

"My dad was waiting for us," I said grimly. "He fucking ambushed Brian, and he might be on the way to your house right now. I want you to take Luke and go to Sara's house. Don't tell your parents where you're going. I'll meet you there after I drop Brian off at the hospital."

Daphne agreed, and promised to get there as soon as possible.

As I hung up the phone, I put the car in gear and pulled out onto the street. A hand brushed at my thigh.

I glanced over and saw Brian making a monumental effort to lift his head and focus on me. His mouth was moving.

"What?" I asked him, braking for a stop sign. I leaned over, trying to hear him better.

"...no hos... hospital... no..."

"What?" I jerked back, startled. "Brian, you're half-dead."

He shook his head. "Your kid."

I blinked, feeling my heart soar. This was the Brian Kinney I'd tapped into the first night, the Brian Kinney that I was undeniably in love with, and the Brian Kinney that I was going to miss for the rest of my life.

"Okay," I said shakily. "Okay."


	8. Fall

  
**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 8: Fall**   


Fifteen minutes later, when I pulled into the driveway to Sara's house, Daphne was already parked in the driveway. It was dark out, but my headlights flashed into the car and I saw her twisted around in the front seat, obviously speaking to Luke. She looked up at my arrival.

As I killed the engine, I heard the muted sounds of Luke crying.

"Why's he crying?" I demanded, tearing out of the Jeep.

Daphne had gotten out of her car. "I don't know. He hasn't been happy since the phone call woke him up—I checked his diaper and I tried to see if he had a fever, but..."

I opened the car door and made quick work of the straps, pulled him out of the car seat and crushed him to my chest. I fell back against the car, burying my face in his hair and murmuring to him softly. Luke was okay. We were okay.

The adrenaline from the encounter with my father hadn't worn off yet.

"Oh my God, Brian!" Daphne squealed, making me remember that Brian was half-dead in the passenger seat of the Jeep.

"He didn't want to go to the hospital," I said, bringing my head up.

Luke's cries had begun to peter out, and I wondered if this was the extreme separation anxiety that the baby books all said would set in around nine months.

"Can you grab Luke's diaper bag and take him into the house?" I asked. "My key ring's in the front pocket of my backpack—the house key is the one with the red sticker... I've got to help Brian into the house."

"Yeah, sure," Daphne said.

I continued to hold Luke, rubbing his back, as she leaned into the car. Moments later she emerged with my key ring in hand and the diaper bag over her shoulder.

Luke burst into tears when I handed him over, and I winced. "Sorry."

She shrugged and headed for the front door, a wailing Luke on her hip.

I approached the Jeep. "Brian?"

I heard a groan, and the click of a seat-belt.

"C'mon," I said, opening the door. "You've got to come inside."

Brian moaned something I couldn't quite make out, but it didn't sound very much like an agreement.

"I know you're in pain, but you've got to come inside. The sun's gone and it's getting colder."

Brian didn't respond.

"There's drugs inside," I offered.

That, at last, got him to move. With difficulty, I got him out of the Jeep, and then we took a slow, unsteady walk up the front walk to the house. Daphne had left the door open, angel that she was.

The sound of Luke crying greeted us as soon as we were in the door. Daphne was bouncing him, talking to him, walking up and down the room, but he was having none of it.

"Just down the hall," I said, steering Brian in the right direction. He was heavy, and leaning on me more and more with every step we took. By the time we got to Cal's bedroom and he was able to lay down on the bed, I was struggling to support him. I was also beginning to feel the adrenaline wear off, leaving me with an aching shoulder, side, hip, jaw, and other assorted pains that kind of blurred together. We were lucky we hadn't needed to go further.

"What hurts?" I asked him quietly.

Brian was lying on his back, breathing shallowly. "Ribs. Head. Face."

"You need to see a doctor."

Brian shook his head minutely.

I bit my lip, but I knew he didn't have the energy to argue. "I'll be back," I said instead.

I left the room and headed back into the living room, where Daphne had managed to get Luke to quiet a little, but not by much. As soon as she caught sight of me, she was shoving him into my arms.

Luke went quiet almost immediately, snuffling against my jacket.

"Can you see if there's any aspirin in the cabinet?" I asked, sitting down on the couch. "It should be in the one above the toaster."

Daphne nodded, disappearing into the kitchen.

I sat back against the couch for a moment, closing my eyes and feeling Luke's weight in my arms. The night was beginning to take its toll as exhaustion and pain started to make their way to the forefront of my mind. The world had gotten so fucked up in a matter of hours. It seemed like ages ago that I had been sitting in the living room with my parents, listening to my father tell me that it was okay, that I didn't need to pretend to be gay to get his attention anymore.

"Justin?" Daphne whispered.

I opened my eyes, looking up at her.

She shook the bottle in her hand. "There was only Tylenol."

"It's for Brian," I said, although some pain medication for myself wouldn't have been a bad thing either. "Here, I'll take it. Can you go out to the car and bring in my duffel and backpack? And the car seat?"

"Of course."

And Daphne left again.

I stood up, moving Luke to my hip so that I could hold him with one arm, and went into the kitchen. Opening the freezer, I found an old bag of frozen peas, and I pulled it out. I made a makeshift ice pack using the dishtowel that was hung on the stove, and then poured a glass of water. Slipping the bottle of Tylenol into my pocket, I grabbed the glass and ice pack in one hand, and, keeping Luke secure with my other arm, headed down to Cal's bedroom.

It was bizarre to think that after five—or was it six?—weeks of abandonment, the house would still be here, looking exactly as I'd left it the day after Sara had died. There was a rotten bowl of oranges on the counter, and a box of Pop Tarts next to the toaster. I really didn't think Cal was coming back, and I wasn't sure what would happen to the house. I was pretty sure that he'd paid off the mortgage on the house, but the house couldn't just sit here for all eternity. Would the bank reclaim it? The city? How long did they have to wait before they determined that Cal Anderson wasn't coming back?

I pushed the thoughts out of my mind as I entered Cal's bedroom again.

Brian hadn't moved.

I laid a mostly-asleep Luke on the bed, near Brian's head so that I could keep an eye on him, and then I sat down next to him.

"I have drugs," I whispered.

Brian's mouth twitched in a semblance of a smile. "Yay."

"How are you feeling?" I asked as I slid the bottle out of my pocket.

"Head's better. Not so spinny."

"I have Tylenol," I told him, dumping four of the little white pills into the palm of my hand.

"Vicodin," Brian croaked.

I snorted. "Sorry. This is all I've got. You want to dry-swallow, or do you want water first?"

"Dry."

He was definitely feeling better. He was talking more coherently, even if he hadn't cracked his eyes open. His nose had stopped bleeding. His breathing, on the other hand, had not improved.

I tipped the pills into his mouth one at a time, and then brought the glass of water to his lips. Brian drank two swallows and then shook his head slightly, panting.

I set the glass on the nightstand and then reached for my makeshift ice pack.

"I have an ice pack," I told him. "For your chest."

Brian's eyes cracked open at that, and though his eyes attempted to focus on my face, they seemed to be distracted by the head of white-blonde hair that was probably just inside his peripheral vision. His eyes traveled down, and in the dimness of the room, I wasn't sure if he was looking at Luke or if he had just shut his eyes again.

"Here?" I asked him, placing the ice pack where I was pretty sure the bottom of his ribcage was.

"Higher."

I obliged, and Brian made a tiny nodding motion.

"I'm going to be down the hall in the living room. Yell if you need anything."

Brian made a vague noise.

I picked up Luke and left the room, going back to the living room where Daphne was sitting with my bags and the car seat.

She bit her lip, standing as I came in. "Justin, I've got to get back home. It's almost eleven on a school night, and if your parents showed up..."

I nodded. "Yeah, okay. I'm good here."

"Should I tell them that I took you to Debbie's?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No. Tell them... Tell them you took me to a homeless shelter. If they ask."

"Are you gonna be okay here?" Daphne asked, concern written all over her face.

"I'll be fine," I said. I smiled tiredly. "Really. Thanks for your help."

"I guess I won't see you at school tomorrow?"

I shrugged. "I'm suspended anyway."

She grinned. "Oh, yeah. One would think you planned this!"

"Never in a million years would I have planned this," I said, staring down at Luke as the truth of the words sunk in.

What had I done?

Daphne left and I lay down on the couch, exhaustion taking over the mental-overdrive my mind had pulled into, trying to figure out what I was going to do now. I lay on my back, Luke asleep on my chest, and was out cold in minutes. Unconsciousness had never been such a blessing.

 

It was a combination of the uncomfortable couch, the general ache that had stiffened my body overnight, and Luke rolling over, kicking the spot where I'd been elbowed last night, that woke me up. Swallowing a yelp of pain, my eyes shot open and I almost sat up before I realized what the weight on my chest was.

The living room was dark, but lighter than it had been when I'd closed my eyes. A glance at the clock on the wall told me that it was a little past six.

I sat up slowly, both because I didn't want to wake Luke and because it turned out that moving hurt like a fucking  _bitch._  In particular, my shoulder was throbbing fiercely every time I moved my arm. Ow. Hopefully, it would loosen up as I moved it around more. And if this was how I was feeling, I couldn't imagine the pain that Brian must be in.

Shit. Fuck. Balls.

Brian.

I set Luke in the car seat that was sitting next to the couch, buckling the main strap so that he wouldn't slide out, and then I made my way (stiffly) down the hallway. It wasn't even my ass that hurt, for once. My hip was twinging from where I'd landed on it last night at the loft, and pain was radiating, quietly but still there, from various areas along my torso from when I'd been trying to get between Dad and Brian.

I'd run away from home. I had a son to support, and I was fucking seventeen years old. What had I  _done?_

I pushed open the door to Cal's bedroom. I wondered if I should start referring to it as Cal's old bedroom, or if I should continue to use the present tense version in the hope that one day, he would come back. What if he did? Could I really give Luke back to him, after he'd abandoned us like that? After Luke had finally gotten over the loss of his mother? And I was pretty sure that, legally, Luke was mine unless they could prove me an unfit parent. Which I wasn't, except for the fact that I was jobless, homeless, and couldn't even vote.

"Brian?" I whispered cautiously.

Brian hadn't moved. The bag of no-longer-frozen peas still lay on his chest, rising and falling with every breath, and the glass of water I'd left on the nightstand had gone untouched.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, and gently patted his face. "Brian?"

A grunt. Brian's mouth fell open and something between a sigh and a groan came spilling out. He started to raise a hand, no doubt to bring it up to scrub his face, when he suddenly froze and let out a hiss of pain. Slowly, he brought his hand up the rest of the way, and carefully rubbed at his eyes.

"...the fuck did you let me do?" Brian mumbled, cracking his eyes open. "Christ."

"Um," I said.

And then it came to him. Even though his eyes were mere slits, I could still see the light in his eyes when the memories came back to him.

I took the bag of peas off his chest, wincing as my shoulder flared. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I was fucking ambushed last night, how the fuck do you  _think_  I feel?"

I shrugged, watching my hands as they dropped the bag of peas into my lap. It seemed he was feeling better this morning.

"Christ," Brian muttered, closing his eyes and exhaling. "Where the fuck are we?"

"Just outside of the city," I told him. "Bleaker Lane."

"Tell me it's not past seven," he demanded.

"It's not past seven," I told him, truthfully.

Brian sighed. "At least, for once, I don't have myself to blame for feeling like shit the morning after."

I cringed.

Brian pushed himself up off the bed, slowly, and I made no move to help him. I focused my eyes on the glass of water, listening to his slightly labored breathing as he stood, and didn't turn my head as he walked out of the room. Brian was apparently too busy trying to reorient himself with the world, and move around while in considerable pain, to notice.

"You should go to the hospital," I told him as I finally got up off the bed, following him out of the room.

Brian staggered into the bathroom, which was handily right across from Cal's bedroom, and flicked on the lights.

I was almost back to the living room when I heard him swear loudly, and I rushed to see what had happened.

Brian was staring at his reflection in the mirror. There were trails of dried blood from his nose and down his neck, and a day's worth of growth was peaking out through the crusted mess. He appeared to be more worried about the black eye, which actually spilled over his eye and down most of his left cheek in nasty shades of purple and yellow

"Fuck," he swore, poking at it twice, and then going for his cell phone.

"I'm sorry," I said hesitantly. "I didn't mean for it to—I didn't mean for my dad to..."

Brian ignored me, punching in a number and then holding the cell phone to his ear as he started running the water in the sink.

"Cynthia!" he barked. "Yes. Yes, I know, and you get up early to perm your hair or whatever the fuck, anyway, so don't bitch at me. I'm not coming into work today. I got into a car wreck last night, my face is a fucking mess, there's no way I can give the pitch to those dickwads from Canton this afternoon. Yeah. No. Whatever. And if you send that fruit basket, I'll fucking kill you."

He swore again as he brought his arm down to put the cell phone back in his pocket.

"I'm sorry," I said again, even more miserable. Brian was missing a day of work because of me.

Brian ran his fingers under the stream of water, and then raised his arm to wipe his face—and hissed in pain as he did so, cringing in on himself a little bit. He continued to wash his face, despite the obvious pain it caused him to lift his arm, and I continued to feel terrible.

But he was obviously not interested in talking to me, so I didn't say anything more. Instead, I just hovered in the doorway and carefully did  _not_  lean against my still-aching shoulder.

"What the fuck are you waiting for?" he snapped, after I'd been standing there for several minutes.

"You should see a doctor."

"And you should go home."

My mouth dropped open. "My dad just tried to kill you, and you want me to go  _home?_ "

"He didn't try to kill me," Brian said, rolling his eyes. "He just wanted to show you... who the bigger man was."

 _And it wasn't me_.

Brian didn't say it, but it was so obvious from his tone of voice.

"By attacking you when you had your back turned?" I asked incredulously. "You think that makes him a man? He's a fucking coward, Brian! You're four times the man he is!"

"I  _know_  that!" Brian snarled, whirling on me.

I flinched, but my anger made me hold to my position. "Then why are you acting like you lost last night?"

"I did lose. Or did you miss the part where your father was beating his chest and doing Tarzan calls over my half-conscious body?" Brian paused, and then sneered at me. "I hate to shatter your knight-in-shining-armor fantasies,  _princess_ , but last night was not a victory. Last night was me getting my ass kicked."

"But it wasn't a fair fight!" I protested.

Brian snorted, and then cringed, hissing. "Fights are never fair," he said through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut.

"So then it's  _my_  fault. All those times that Dad was shaking me, hitting me—" So I was exaggerating a little, but it got Brian's attention. "—I should have put him in his place! If only I hadn't been such a little faggot and I'd actually fought him back like a man, maybe last night would have never happened."

"Oh, don't be a princess."

"Well, if we're blaming people for losing fights they never stood a chance in..." I raised my eyebrows.

"Did I mention that I have a headache?" Brian asked.

"No," I said. "You conveniently didn't mention it until I was annoying you. Why are you so pissy? Do you think that you failed at protecting me or someth—"

"Fucking Christ!" Brian slammed his hands down on the counter of the sink. He bellowed, bending over, but it turned from one of pain into one of rage and he turned on me. "Let's think about this one, Sunshine. Let's reason through it. Why would I be pissed? Starting with: I did not get laid last night. You lied to me, and if there's one thing I thought you had the decency to do, it was to tell the fucking truth. Then I get ambushed, humiliated in front of an entire street of people, and then I wake up in a house that's who the fuck knows where. I'm missing a day of work. I can't raise my arms, I can't breathe, I can't even walk in a straight line, and what the hell makes you think that I want to see  _your fucking face_  right now?"

"I—I—" I stammered, my stomach churning. "I'm sorry."

From the living room, I heard Luke start to cry.

Brian closed his eyes, bringing his face away from mine. "Just get the fuck out of here. Go take care of your kid."

I swallowed, nodding without looking at him, and left the bathroom.

Shit. I wasn't sure whether or not Brian blamed me for last night, but I was sure as hell feeling guilty. Some of the things he'd said... But on the other hand, his anger didn't feel like it was directed at me. Mostly. Maybe some of it. But maybe I was just fantasizing, clinging to something that no longer existed.

"Hey, dude," I said, crouching in front of the car seat. "Are you being a drama queen again?"

Luke was too busy crying to notice me. When I lifted him out of the seat, he found himself dangling in midair for a few moments and started screaming, twisting and flailing, until I got him against my chest. One hand securely under his butt, the other on his back, I murmured to him and rubbed his back until he calmed down enough to realize that it was me. Then his face split into a drooly baby grin and he reached up, grabbing my lip and pulling.

I grinned and let him tug.

And it occurred to me, then, just how much Luke needed me. He needed me to feed him in a few minutes, make sure he had a fresh diaper, give him a safe place to take his morning nap, hold him balanced so that he wouldn't fall... And I needed Brian, but in a different way. A less important way. I could live without Brian. Luke couldn't live without me.

"Breakfast time!" I announced softly, grabbing the diaper bag and heading for the kitchen.

Luke babbled happily.

"Let's get you in your high chair, yeah?" I told him. "Because you need to eat, and Daddy needs to put you down. His shoulder hurts. And you're getting heavy, dude—what have I been feeding you, huh?"

I deposited Luke into his old high chair (this one had a cowboy print on the seat, not Care Bears) and retrieved his bib, formula, applesauce and a baggie of Cheerios from the diaper bag. Luke was feeding himself Cheerios while I was microwaving formula, when Brian appeared.

"So where are we, really?" he asked, leaning back against the kitchen wall. His eyes were on Luke, who took no notice.

I felt embarrassed, for some reason, but I pushed it away. What did I have to be embarrassed for?

"We're at Luke's other grandpa's house. He left when Sara died, so we've got the place to ourselves."

Brian glanced around. "We're squatting."

"Well, I am, at least," I said.

"And that's the plan?" Brian asked, not bothering to hide his amusement. Or his derision. "Squatting in your dead girlfriend's house? What, is her ghost gonna take care of the kid when you're in school today?"

I smirked. "I'm suspended. Today and Monday."

"You? Suspended?"

"I picked a fight with the school bully." I couldn't help the note of pride in my voice.

The microwave dinged, and I retrieved Luke's bottle.

"You're even stupider than I thought, if you think you're gonna make it on your own," Brian snorted, and then he winced in pain. "Maybe if you didn't have the kid... Babies are expensive, Sunshine. Believe me. I would know."

"No one asked you," I snapped. I scowled at him as I sat down next to Luke, helping him with the bottle.

"You should go home," Brian said.

"I'm never going back there. Ever." My voice had gone flat, and I glared at the table. "I was a prisoner there, and my father's a fucking psycho. I won't let him lay a hand on Luke."

"So love in poverty is better than hatred in luxury?" Brian asked mockingly.

"You don't have to make it sound so trite," I said irritably.

Luke paused in his sucking at the sound of my voice, and I shook my head, running a hand over his hair.

"Not you, buddy. You're fine."

Reassured, Luke slowly went back to his bottle.

"If you really wanted to do what was best for the kid, you'd give him up for adoption," Brian said mildly.

I scowled. "Stop calling him 'the kid'. His name is Luke."

"Fine. Luke. He could be in a house in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, with people who have the time and money to raise him. You could go to college—"

"Look," I interrupted, not liking the emotions that were rising inside of me. "I wasn't even supposed to raise him. Sara was supposed to, and then when she died, Cal was supposed to. But he left. If Lindsay and Melanie were to die tomorrow, wouldn't you take Gus in?"

"That's a completely different situation," Brian said dismissively. "I have a steady income, transportation, and a place to live. You have none of those things."

" _You_ work ridiculous hours, you drink and do drugs every night, you trick like nobody's business, your loft is in no way set up to raise a child." Brian was looking increasingly pissed off, but I pushed on. "The idea of love makes you itchy, and the slightest signs of affection make you turn people into your emotional punching bags. You're impatient and moody. You manipulate people and couldn't give a flying fuck about—"

"And who the  _fuck_ are you?" Brian demanded, his tone dangerous.

So I'd pushed a little too far.

"The point is," I said, not at all intimidated, "you're far from a perfect father for Gus. He'd be better off, in the long run, with a couple of breeders—" Oops. I wasn't supposed to say that word anymore. Sorry, Daphne. "—in a house in the suburbs of Pittsburgh. Wouldn't he?"

"No, he fucking  _wouldn't_ ," Brian spat. "And don't try to parallel the situations because they're nowhere near the same. Look, your idiocy is going to end up killing the k—Luke. Do you want that?"

"Anything is better than being back there," I said stubbornly.

Brian laughed. Actually  _laughed_. "Oh, yeah. I'm sure it was awful."

For the first time that morning, I was legitimately angry. I'd been irritated, frustrated, and mad, yeah—but now I was pissed. How dare he? How fucking  _dare_ he judge me like that?

"Get the fuck out of here."

"Don't have my keys," Brian said with a shrug. He winced again in pain.

Good. Fuck him. I hoped his ribs were all broken and he wouldn't be able to have sex for months.

"They're in the living room, on the floor by the couch," I said icily, and then I raised my eyebrows at him. "I'm not kidding. Get the fuck out of here."

Brian raised his forearms—not his arms, just the forearms, but the gesture of surrender was still obvious. "All right, princess. I'm off. Bring snacks with you when you apply for Welfare. It takes five or six hours to get through all the paperwork, I hear."

"I'm not fucking applying for Welfare!"

He slammed the door on his way out.

 _Ooo!_ Such an asshole!

 

Resigning myself to the fact that Brian was no longer going to be a part of my life, I decided to move onto more important matters at hand—like finding a job, and figuring out how much money I needed, exactly, to make it through a week.

Unfortunately, an entire day spent driving around Pittsburgh with a cranky Luke in the backseat quickly made me realize that job hunting was not easy, and that there were very few places hiring seventeen-year-olds in Pittsburgh. A trip to the grocery store made me also realize just how much it was going to cost to keep Luke fed and clean. By the time I left the store, I'd bought nothing for myself except a loaf of bread, but an entire week's worth of supplies for Luke, and almost all of my cash was gone.

It was also colder than balls outside. I called Daphne from a payphone outside the grocery store, holding Luke's carrier so that he was angled away from the wind.

That was another problem I had—the phones at Cal's had been shut off. I had no idea how much a phone bill was, or how to get the phones turned back on, but I knew that I needed  _some_  way for people to get in contact with me. Especially if I was going to get Luke into a daycare center.

"Chanders residence," Daphne answered.

"Hey, it's me," I said, huddling against the payphone. I tried not to let my teeth chatter. "What's up?"

"Oh my God, you're alive!" Daphne hissed, and I could hear her quickly moving into another room. "What's going on? Are you okay? What happened after I left?"

I filled her in on the situation, and after calling Brian an asshole five or six times, she told me that she had to get off the phone, but that we should meet up tomorrow morning.

"Let's go to that diner, the one where Debbie Novotny works," she suggested.

"No way! Brian and the guys do breakfast there on Saturday mornings."

We agreed on a different place to meet up, and then I had to go because I was already feeling guilty for keeping Luke out in the cold this long.

On the way home, I began mentally totaling how much money I'd have to make every week to make this work. I was quickly discovering that one of the major flaws in my education at St. James had been a lack of accounting/economics classes, or something else that would have prepared me for dealing with my own finances. And maybe some instruction on the basics of health insurance. And getting your utilities turned back on.

And dealing with people named Brian Kinney.

When I pulled into the driveway of Sara's house, I discovered the Jeep idling in the drive. What the hell was he doing here?

"Waiting for the fair lady to return to her tower, of course," Brian answered, when I asked.

"Go away."

Brian picked up the other bag of groceries, giving me a free hand for Luke. I would have told him to fuck off, except I did appreciate the help. And maybe I was just a little bit curious to find out what he was doing here.

"Your mother dropped by my loft earlier this evening," Brian said casually, as I dumped the bags on the kitchen counter. "Wanted to know where you were. She seemed to think that I'd dropped you off at some homeless shelter last night."

My stomach did a flip-flop. "W—what did you tell her?"

"I told her I dropped you off on Liberty Avenue, and I didn't know where the fuck you were."

I let out a huge sigh of relief, closing my eyes. "Thank you."

"She's really  _worried_  about you," Brian said, in a mock-concerned voice. "I think this might have been the first time she's raised her voice in public in years."

"Well, she's never had a little birdie leave the nest before," I said insolently, mimicking his tone.

I moved away from the counter to where Luke was starting to struggle against his straps, whimpering. Brian followed.

"Except most little birdies don't jump before they're not ready, and crash-land into homeless shelters," Brian replied, his voice losing some of its mocking quality. "Or, you know, their dead girlfriend's nest."

Setting Luke free of his confines and onto the floor, he immediately took off in the direction of the bucket of blocks we'd been playing with this morning. He babbled happily as he crawled, a string of "babababababababa..." that made me smile a little.

I moved to start putting away the groceries.

"She'll give up, eventually," I told Brian, not bitterly. "She'll stop as soon as Dad finds out, and anyway, she can't make too much of a fuss because then the rest of the neighborhood would find out, and that was why this whole thing went to shit in the first place. Maintaining our reputation."

Brian put a hand on my shoulder, holding me in place and circling around me. His expression was alarmingly serious. "She's scared, Justin. She loves you."

"Maybe you shouldn't have covered for me, then," I sniped, shrugging his hand off.

"Maybe I shouldn't have."

"But you did."

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't call up your mother right now and tell her where her wayward chickadee has been building his little nest."

Fuck.

"Can we cut the bird metaphor already?" I snapped. "And you're not calling my mother."

"You don't think she deserves to know that you're alive?" Brian asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What do you care?"

Brian was losing his patience. "This is ridiculous. Quit being a twat and call her. Look, you might not like it, but right now that place is the only home you've got—believe me, I know what it's like to live in a shitty home. Deal with it until your graduate from school, then you can get the hell out of Dodge. All right?"

"I'm dropping out of school," I said, my jaw setting.

In the tense atmosphere, Luke had paused, block in his mouth.

"You're just really bent on fucking your life up, aren't you?" Brian asked with a snort.

"Why do you  _care?_ " I demanded, advancing on him. "It's none of your business! Either tell my mother where I am, or don't—don't stand here hanging it over my head. I'm not fucking going back there."

Brian stared me for a long moment, and I stared back until he finally dropped his gaze.

"Whatever," he said, shaking his head. "I'm going to Babylon."

My heart ached as I suddenly realized that Babylon—the colors, the glitter, the thumpa-thumpa-thumpa that I was so incredibly in sync with—was a thing of the past. There was no way I could afford to pay the entrance fee and a babysitter, and there was no way I could take the risk of having my fake ID discovered. I couldn't risk Luke over that. But God, would I miss it.

"Thank you," I said quietly, as he made for the door.

Brian didn't answer. But he didn't slam the door on his way out, this time.


	9. Twist

**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 9: Twist**

The following morning, I ranted to Daphne in between bites of pancake about the hardships of living on your own.

"And daycare is so expensive—I mean, they should have a government program or something, for people in my situation. Don't I deserve, like, a discount for being young and burdened?"

"You could always sleep with the manager," Daphne suggested.

I groaned. "Oh my God, you sound like Brian."

Between us, in the highchair the diner had provided, Luke was gumming on a teething biscuit. I was fairly certain he had teeth coming in, and anyway, it kept him occupied.

"What _ever_. So what are you gonna do about getting a job?"

"I don't know," I said, slouching in my seat. I twisted my face into a pout. "I guess I'll spend today driving around, trying to find someplace that'll take me. I mean, it's not like Pittsburgh has a dearth of industry. There's got to be  _some_  place that's hiring."

"There's always McDonalds."

"Well, fuck, if it comes to that..."

Daphne wrinkled her nose. "Ew. Seriously, Justin, if it comes to that, you might be better off shaking your ass at some dance club or something."

I grinned. "I could peddle my ass on the streets—Brian's always said it was my most valuable asset."

"But then you'd have to have sex with nasty old men."

"Nasty old  _rich_  men," I countered.

"You could always get some old rich guy to take you in, become his, you know, live-in mistress."

I choked on my orange juice. "Are you suggesting I become a  _concubine?_ "

Daphne giggled. "Why not?"

"Well, first of all, concubines were usually given as gifts by infertile wives, with the intent of producing children where the wife couldn't—"

"Yeah, in Biblical times," Daphne interrupted, swatting my arm.

"And second of all," I went on, "I'm pretty sure that all the wealthy old men in Pittsburgh already have mistresses that they  _don't_ need to pay for. Anyway, I'm gonna find a job. I'll be fine."

We ate in silence for a couple of minutes.

"Your mom is really worried about you," Daphne said at length. "I think she might call the police."

Why did everyone want to talk about my mother?

"She won't," I said confidently. "She didn't even want to call the police when she thought that Brian was molesting me, she sure as hell won't call the cops now."

"Well... until she gives up..." Daphne bit her lip. "It's just that my parents are already furious with me. If I'm always sneaking out, they're gonna know that I'm going to see you, and then they'll tell your mom. And I..."

I swallowed. "Oh," I said, my voice small.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I said automatically. "You're right."

The rest of brunch passed quietly, and then we parted ways. Daphne went home to do her homework. I went to go find a job.

Amazing, how much your life can change in less than forty-eight hours.

 

My job hunt lasted about two hours, called to an early end when Luke started getting cranky and wouldn't calm down even when I tried to get him to eat another teething biscuit. His morning nap had been cut a little short because I'd had to meet Daphne, and so he was probably ready for his afternoon nap a little early.

And of course, when I came back to the house, there was the goddamn Jeep sitting in the driveway.

"Fuck," I muttered, pulling into the drive.

Then I noticed that next to the head of brown hair, there was a head of flaming red hair in the passenger seat. Debbie.

What?

I shut off the car engine and paused for a moment, running over the possibilities in my head, but nothing I came up with made sense. And now Brian and Debbie were getting out of the Jeep. Best face them and figure out what was going on, get this over with.

Debbie practically barreled me over as I was getting out of the car. "Sunshine!"

"Um. Hi."

I squinted at Brian over Debbie's shoulder, but didn't get a good look before Debbie was grabbing onto my shoulders and holding me square in front of her. I discovered that my shoulder hadn't fully recovered from its encounter with Brian's floor, and winced.

"Do you have any idea how worried we've been?" Debbie demanded. "You're too fucking smart to be pulling shit like this! Your mother's ready to plaster Liberty Avenue with your face, thinking you're in some homeless shelter or something!"

"I'm fine," I told her, grinning a little in spite of myself.

"And a kid!" Debbie exclaimed. She released me, her eyes going to the back of the car. "A fuckin' kid! Jesus Christ, Sunshine, I almost fell over when Brian told me!"

My eyes flicked to Brian, who was unapologetic as  _always_ , and then turned my attention to Luke. "Yeah. Here, let me get him and we'll go inside. He's been fussy all morning, he's teething..."

I collected Luke from the backseat ("Oh, Sunshine, he's got your bubble butt!" "Uh, he's wearing a diaper, Deb..."), slinging his diaper bag over my shoulder, and led them into the house. I disappeared into Sara's room for a moment to take off Luke's winter garb, change his diaper and then put him in his crib. He cried throughout the entire process, only calming when I took my finger and rubbed at his gums in an effort to relieve some of the pain. I had to buy him a new teething ring, and maybe ask the doctor about baby Tylenol when he had his check-up.

Of course, there was the possibility that Luke shared my allergy to Tylenol, and oh God, I did not need to deal with an emergency room visit right now.

I left Luke in his crib, him finally having started to drift off to sleep. In the living room, Debbie was muttering to herself and opening cupboards, and Brian was against the wall, looking for all the world as though he were waiting for someone to spontaneously drop to their knees and give him a blowjob. Asshole.

I cleared my throat. "Does someone want to explain what's going on?"

The pointed look that I threw Brian seemed to have absolutely no effect on him.

Debbie shut the cupboard where I'd stuffed most of Luke's food and turned around, crossing into the living room. She approached me with a gentle look on her face, hand coming up to brush at my forehead. "Sunshine. Honey."

I didn't so much as twitch. I didn't need her fucking pity.

Debbie gave me a half-smile and stared at me for a moment longer, and then moved her hand down to rest on my shoulder. "Sweetie, do you know that when I had Michael, I was only a little bit older than you were?"

My eyes widened, and my mouth opened before I could stop it. "Really?"

She nodded, and I wondered if maybe it wasn't pity in her eyes, but empathy. Understanding. "His father had died overseas, and there I was, all alone with a baby on the way. I worked night and day at the diner to support us, and Michael always had everything he needed. It was a fuckin' lot of work, but I did it. People do it all the time. Don't ever let anyone tell you that you can't raise your own goddamn kid, Sunshine."

Was Debbie really backing me up? Supporting me? I hadn't had anyone support me since I'd gotten Sara pregnant—it had been Sara and I against the world, always on the defensive. Was there really someone on my side?

I felt vaguely dizzy.

"Not that this isn't sweet and all—"

"I don't even want to hear it," Debbie interrupted, throwing Brian a glare. "I'll be finished when I'm damn well finished."

"T—thank you," I said, regaining my voice. "I really appreciate it, Deb."

"You're welcome. Now, that being said," Debbie continued, and I suddenly sensed that I wasn't going to like the turn the conversation was about to take. "You dropping out of school is the fucking stupidest thing I've ever heard. You're a smart kid, and there's no reason you shouldn't go to college, same as anyone else your age."

I drew myself up, fury rising. "I told my father, I told Brian, and I'm telling you, I'm  _never_ —"

"Will you shut up and listen to her?" Brian cut in, pushing himself away from the wall. "Jesus Christ, you don't have to queen out every time someone tells you you're wrong."

"Well, I'm not going back there," I huffed, crossing my arms. "I'm not."

Debbie smiled. "I know. I have a better idea."

 

Three hours later, I was helping Vic set up Luke's crib in Michael's old bedroom. Brian had helped carry it in, bitching the entire time, and had taken off in his Jeep at the next opportunity. Debbie was downstairs with Luke, who had had his second cut-short nap of the day and was even more fussy as a result. But Debbie had insisted that she could handle it, and sent me upstairs to settle in.

"I really appreciate what you and Debbie are doing for Luke and I," I told Vic as we fastened the base of the crib. "I mean, I think we would have made it, but this is just... easier."

"Oh, it's got nothing to do with you," Vic informed me. "Sis has been suffering from empty nest syndrome since the day Michael started kindergarten."

I grinned.

"Anyway, it's about time I started earning my keep around here," Vic added, his own grin turning a bit sheepish.

We moved on to the side of the crib, securing the bottom into the track.

"It'll only be when I'm at school, I swear," I promised him as we screwed in the bottom joints. I was feeling a new, fervent appreciation for free child care services after discovering just how much it would have cost to have Luke in daycare. "The rest of the time, I'll take care of him. And I'll keep a tab on how much money Luke and I are costing you guys, and as soon as I graduate, I'll get a job and pay you guys back. I swear."

"That's quite a list of promises," Vic said mildly. "You don't need make a damn one of 'em, you know."

"I mean it. You and Debbie are giving me my life back," I insisted.

"Just know that we're not expecting any of that, then," Vic said. "Sis already laid down what we do expect."

I winced. "Yeah, I know. Still, thanks."

Vic didn't reply, and we finished setting up the crib in comfortable silence. I didn't know Vic well, but I thought that I liked him. The only problem I had was with the fact that he was HIV positive—and I knew, I  _knew_  intellectually that Luke had the same chance as I did of contracting the virus from him, but my (God help me) parental instincts were spinning in circles, a little. The thought of Luke being positive, because I'd decided to accept help rather than tough it out on my own...

I was making the right decision. I knew that, in my mind. I'd just have to wait a few days until the rest of me caught up.

Downstairs, I found Debbie slicing a banana. I stifled a groan.

"Please don't let him feed himself that," I pleaded. "I'm hoping to avoid a bath tonight." Luke was fussy enough without having to get him wet. Even now, seated in the high chair we'd brought over from Sara's, he was making unhappy noises.

"Trust me—it's an old teething trick. Frozen bananas."

"Really?" I asked. None of my baby books had mentioned it.

"Yep," Debbie said proudly. "Now that you're living here, you're gonna get all my parenting secrets."

Luke, becoming increasingly frustrated with his seat, started banging on the tabletop of the high chair, his unhappy noises quickly descending into cries. I picked him up before he really got going.

"I know it hurts," I murmured, bouncing him a little and trying to get my finger in his mouth so that I could apply some pressure. "I know, dude. I wish there was something I could do..."

Debbie opened the freezer and put the sliced bananas inside. "I called your mother," she told me as she turned around. "She's on her way over."

That had been one of the stipulations of me staying here. I had to let my mother know that I was here.

"Yay," I said unenthusiastically.

"She loves you, honey," Debbie said, her voice softening. "I know she's been struggling, but she's trying to understand. Don't be too hard on her. Even we parents screw up, sometimes."

She moved out of the kitchen, mentioning something about laundry, and I sat down at the kitchen table with Luke. He'd quieted since I'd started rubbing my finger on his gums.

Jesus, I of all people should know that parents screwed up sometimes. I'd left Luke with Daphne for my 'twenty more minutes', and it had ended with Brian getting beaten half to death, me almost losing Luke, and Daphne being in a boatload of trouble. But I hadn't done that out of a lack of love for my son. I had just been... selfish. When you kept your son prisoner in his own house, hidden away from the neighbors, violated his trust, and refused to stand up for him...

But according to Daphne, Brian and Debbie, Mom had really been freaking out since my disappearance. Maybe it had made her realize that even if she chose to sit around and let social norms rule her life, deferring to Dad most of the time, I wasn't going to. Maybe things were different, now.

 

My mother arrived in a state of hysteria. I barely had time to register her unkempt hair, lack of make-up and her casual clothing before she was pulling me into her arms, crying into my shoulder and clutching me tightly.

It kind of hit me then that Mom had spent the last two days not knowing if I was dead or alive. So I hugged her back and let her sob my name in the middle of the living room, while Debbie stood next to Vic, holding Luke. And just when it was getting a bit awkward, Mom suddenly pushed me back and grabbed me by the shoulders, not unlike Deb had done earlier this afternoon.

"Justin, if you  _ever—_ " She choked, eyes shining with tears. "I was so scared. I love you so much, you know that, right? I love you no matter what you do, or what you say, or—or who you sleep with. I just want you safe."

Now was not the time for me to make a smart-ass comment. "I love you too, Mom."

It was a few more minutes before Mom collected herself, and when she did she took the time to acknowledge the other occupants of the room. Excluding Luke. Apparently, Mom hadn't been worried about his life too much.

"I can't thank you enough for finding him—oh, thank you," Mom said as Debbie handed her a box of Kleenex. She sat down on the sofa.

"You want a cup of water, honey?" Debbie asked.

Mom shook her head. "Oh, no, thank you. I'll be all right. I'm sorry for—well—"

"Nonsense," Debbie said dismissively, sitting down next to her and patting her shoulder. "If it were my kid, I would have slapped the little asshole and then pitched an even bigger fit than you did."

Vic sat in the armchair, and I seated myself on the floor, letting Luke go free. His attention was caught by his stuffed hippo, which was lying a few feet away, and he was in pursuit.

"So," Mom said, and I abruptly realized that her gaze was fixed on me.

"I'm not going home."

Mom's face was pained. "Sweetie, your father—"

"I'm not going home," I repeated flatly. "And you can't make me. I don't care what you threaten me with."

There was a long moment of silence. Mom closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, and then slowly exhaled.

"Well, I certainly can't force you," she murmured, opening her eyes. "Heaven knows I haven't been able to for years. I suppose I should just be happy that you're not telling me that you've living with Brian."

I swallowed. "I don't think you're going to have to worry about Brian anymore, Mom."

"What happened?" Mom asked, frowning.

"Nothing."

She didn't believe me, but didn't press.

"Vic and I are happy to take the boys," Debbie offered. "They'll stay in Mikey's old bedroom."

Mom looked startled for a moment, but quickly pulled herself together. "That's unbelievably generous of you. Thank you."

Debbie waved a hand. "It's nothing."

I couldn't believe it that was easy.

 

But it was. Mom relented completely, allowing me to slide out of her life with such ease that I would have been hurt, if I hadn't felt that maybe I'd been cycling through enough pity parties over the past few weeks. For once, things were going the way that I wanted them to, and I was going to happy about it, dammit.

I was in the middle of a second go at my hand abstraction, this time using yellow, black, peach and brown colored pencils, when Debbie's voice suddenly broke through. "Sunshine! Dinner!"

Grabbing Luke up from the floor, I headed downstairs. Mm. Another benefit to not living on my own—Debbie cooking dinner for me. No longer having to relegate myself to spending twenty dollars a week on food for myself.

As I came down the stairs, I heard Michael whining. I'd heard him come in earlier, but I'd tuned it out in favor of my art. Now, though, I could distinguish his words.

"—there anyone else who could take him in? For Pete's sake, Ma!"

"No, they could not," Debbie snapped.

"What's for dinner?" I asked, coming into the kitchen.

Michael turned to glare at me, but his eyes quickly latched on to Luke. "Oh, look. It's Son of Boy Wonder."

"His name's Luke," I said, scowling.

"Whatever. Listen, you can't stay here. You're gonna have to find somewhere else to freeload."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Michael!" Debbie squawked, slapping him on the back of my head. "Don't you fucking tell Sunshine he's not welcome. He's family!"

"I know you don't like me, but—"

"Oh, please," Michael said, giving me a look. "It's not all about you, you know."

"Michael Charles Novotny—"

"Ma, the doctors said that you need to take it easy. How are you gonna do that if you've got to work even more hours to support Justin and his kid?" Michael asked.

"Doctors?" I repeated, frowning. "What doctors? Debbie, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Debbie said, annoyed.

Michael rolled his eyes. "She's working herself half to death trying to pay off Uncle Vic's medical bills. They're barely making payments as it is, and they don't need  _you_  making things harder."

"Listen here, you little asshole, I don't need your permission to—"

"No, you listen here!" Michael said, cutting her off in his anger. "You do not need to take in another lost boy. He'll be fine without you. You need to think about yourself for a change, because you're sure not gonna be a help to anyone if you work yourself to death!"

There was a brief moment of silence at Michael's outburst, quickly broken by Luke's nervous whine.

"I—I can manage on my own," I offered. God, the last thing I wanted was for Debbie to hurt herself because of me. "Really. Luke and I will be fi—"

"You're staying right here, and I don't want to hear another word about it," Debbie declared, pointing a finger at me. She turned to Michael. "And not that it's any of your business, but I won't be working any extra hours on Sunshine's behalf. It's been taken care of."

The truth stung. "Mom gave you money for me, didn't she?"

Debbie turned to me, face softening. "Oh, sweetie. She just wants you to be taken care of, that's all."

"Sure," I said, my voice cracking on the word. Furious with myself, I cleared my throat and nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I figured."

I should have figured, anyway.

Luke suddenly reached up, his fingers going to my mouth and latching onto my lip, pulling. I smiled and brought my lips together, tugging on his finger and making him squeal.

"Now let's sit down before dinner gets cold," Debbie ordered.

I released Luke's finger. "I have to get—"

"I got his dinner, too, honey," Debbie said, and for the first time I noticed the baby food jars of yams, and a chicken and vegetables mash, next to a bottle of formula. It had only been pulled out of the diaper bag, but the fact that, for once, I had not been the one to prepare Luke's meal... I felt a little funny. Almost irresponsible. I made a note to make sure to be downstairs a little early for dinner, in the future.

"Thanks," I said.

"Does Brian know you've got a kid?" Michael asked, as I set Luke in his high chair (another thing that Brian had allowed us to put in the back of his Jeep, along with the crib).

"Yes," I told him. "He does. And the kid has a name, you know."

I let Michael chew on that. Let him wonder how long Brian had known. He'd clearly been wanting to hear that Brian had learned the truth and told me to fuck off—which wasn't far from the truth, but I'd be damned if I was going to tell him that.

"That's right! Luke Alexander Taylor," Debbie supplied, with a note of pride in her voice. "Like those Star Wars movies, right, Mikey?"

"Sure," Michael said, a bit sullenly.

"He's not named after the movies," I said, and then, trying to lighten the mood I added, "I tried doing my Darth Vader impression for him, but it made him cry."

"That bad?" Vic asked.

I gave him a mock-dirty look.

"Here, Sunshine, you can serve yourself first," Debbie said as she handed me a bowl of pasta.

It smelled amazing, and I told her so.

"You eat as much as you want, honey. It's my grandfa—oh, fucking hell, I forgot the cheese. Hold on."

"I've got it, Ma," Michael interjected quickly, rising to his feet. "You sit."

"I can get the cheese!"

"Sit," Vic and Michael ordered her in the same breath.

Debbie harrumphed and sat back down. "Well, fine."

I hid a smile behind a large bite of pasta. Next to me, though, Luke had gotten with the program that other people were eating food and didn't want to be left out. I scarfed down two more bites of pasta and then quickly unscrewed the jar of yams.

"I think I'm gonna get that promotion at work," Michael announced as he set the cheese down on the table. "I spent last night at Domonic's, celebrating Bob's promotion, and I think they really liked me!"

"Oh, sweetheart, that's great!" Debbie cried, reaching across the table and squeezing his arm. "I'm so proud of you!"

"I really hope I get it," Michael said, grinning.

"When will you know?" Vic asked.

Michael shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, they can only go so long without a store manager."

I tuned out the conversation slightly and focused on Luke, who was a big fan of yams tonight. Yech. It didn't even  _smell_  good.

Feeding Luke, I took the time to go over my homework load, which I suddenly had to worry about now that I wasn't dropping out of school. I had left my essay on  _As I Lay Dying_  half-written on my computer, which Mom had brought over today but I had yet to set up, and I had to start pulling together data for my bio project, and God knew what I'd missed in calculus. Daphne would fill me in on that one. And of course, there were the ever-looming SATs to worry about.

I didn't know if I was going to college. In all likelihood, wherever I ended up going, my SAT scores weren't going to matter very much. But I'd already registered for the test, and I hadn't been studying for the past two months only to let it go to waste now. And I couldn't leave Daphne to face the horrors of standardized testing all by herself.

Plus, it was just a test. I was going to rock the shit out of it, anyway.

"Sunshine, you hear that?"

I looked up, startled out of my thoughts. "Sorry, one more time?"

"Family dinner, next Sunday. We'll have the girls over and everything! What do you think?" Debbie asked, with such a bright smile that there wasn't anything I could do but nod my head and say that it sounded great.

I didn't want to think about what effect Luke was going to have on how people thought of me. They'd seemed to like me well enough when I'd been Justin the Stalker Twink. Meeting me as Justin the Runaway Teenaged Father might change things a bit.

And, though I didn't ask it, the most important question on my mind was whether or not Brian would be coming.

 

Monday passed by uneventfully, save for when Deb came bursting in around nine, proudly announcing that Michael had gotten his promotion, and then swooping Vic up into the most dysfunctional rendition of a swing dance I've ever seen. I got caught up on my homework, coached Vic on Luke and his schedule (and, in my paranoia, also wrote out a mini-manual for him and left it on the kitchen table), and worked on my "hands" piece some more. It was a busy Monday. Between all that, there was hardly any time to think about Brian. Or Daphne.

Who, as a result, practically mowed me over when I showed up for school on Tuesday morning.

"Oh my God, what are you doing here?" she demanded, squeezing me tightly. "You said you were dropping out of school! Where's Luke? Are you really coming back to school?"

"Stop strangling me and I'll tell you."

She released me, grinning manically. "Tell me! What the hell are you doing here?"

And so I relayed to her what had happened since I'd left her in the diner Saturday morning, all the while directing us into the warmth of St. James. It was really getting cold out—no doubt there'd be snow on the ground in the next few weeks.

Her eyes were wide by the time I finished. "Wow. Brian must really love you, to help you out after everything that happened."

I rolled my eyes. "He doesn't love me. He was probably just bitching to Debbie about how some stupid twink got him ambushed, and Debbie insisted on coming to the rescue."

"When did you get so cynical?" Daphne asked, frowning.

"I don't have the time to chase after him anymore," I answered with a shrug. "I've got Luke to worry about, now. I was a good fuck that he decided to have more than once—and maybe I didn't completely annoy him all the time. But now it's over, and I've accepted that."

I was lying my head off.

"But don't you love him?" Daphne pressed.

"Yeah," I sighed, letting sadness creep into my tone for the first time. "But he doesn't love me. And I don't have the time to make him fall for me."

Daphne looked conflicted, but after a moment, reached for my hand. "Well, do you think you can still get him to fuck you? Maybe as, like, a birthday present?"

I grinned at her. "I'll wish for orgasms when I blow out my candles, and see what happens."

She giggled. "Justin!"

"So, does this mean that I'm allowed to see you, now?" I asked. "Or have I become a pariah at the country club again?"

"Like that mattered to you last time," Daphne said, rolling her eyes.

My smile widened, remembering our numerous meet-ups despite her parents' decrees that she wasn't to hang out with someone who was clearly 'a bad influence' and 'was going nowhere with his life'. Her parents had never fully come around to the idea that I wasn't a serial impregnator, looking to implant Daphne with my seed, too, as soon as she was looking the other way. But they had, in the end, resigned themselves to the fact that we weren't going to be kept apart.

The situation had been different on Saturday, of course. But now that I was staying with Debbie, happily away from my father...

"As long as you're sure that your parents are okay with you staying with Debbie, then it's fine," Daphne told me. "I mean, I don't want to be the one who's responsible for them dragging you back home and shipping you off to some military school in Texas."

She had a point.

I thought about it for a second or so. "Well, I don't know how my dad feels about it, but Mom's the one who helped move my stuff over on Sunday. So I don't think she's going to be dragging me home any time soon."

Daphne made a face. "Your dad's gotta be majorly pissed, though. I mean, he tried to kill Brian on Thursday night!"

I debated whether or not to mention what had been bothering me since Mom had shown up at Debbie's house on Saturday. It wasn't the most solid bit of thinking I'd ever done, but on the other hand, it was Daphne. Who else was I going to tell, if not her?

"I'm not sure that Mom's told him where I am," I confessed as we came to a stop at my locker. "I mean, she helped move my stuff, and she's giving Debbie money for me and Luke, but I can't believe that he wouldn't be dragging me home if he knew where I was. Especially if he knew it was Debbie Novotny."

"Maybe she told him that he couldn't drag you home. Laid down the law, you know," Daphne suggested.

I snorted. "My mother? Daphne, please."

"She's got major cajones under her Mom-pants, Justin," Daphne said seriously. "I don't know where they came from, but you didn't see her when she showed up at my house that night. She was in  _charge_."

I tried to imagine Mom giving Dad orders. After seventeen years of Mom's passive-aggressive, middle-finger-when-he-isn't-looking tactics, it was pretty damn hard to picture.

"Anyway, how else would she explain that she's moving all your stuff out?" Daphne pointed out.

"But it doesn't make sense!" I said, frustrated. "She's never stood up to him, before. Not like that."

"Well, you've never run away from home before," Daphne said logically.

"I think it's got something to do with the gay thing," I said slowly. "Her letting me move out, I mean. I don't think she knows how to deal with me anymore."

"I thought you said she was okay with it?"

I frowned. "She was. Mostly. It was just Brian that she had a problem with, and that's why she told Dad, and then he went ballistic, and... Yeah."

"Maybe she's just protecting you," Daphne offered. "I mean, your dad tried to  _kill_ Brian and—"

"Well, not really. He just wanted to beat him up—you know, prove he was the bigger man."

"Whatever. Your dad went apeshit. So maybe she thought you'd be safer if you were out of the house for a while, you know, until she and your dad can agree on things."

"But that would mean that she's expecting me to go back home, at some point, and I told her flat-out that I'm not going back there. I won't let my father anywhere near Luke. Not after what he did to Brian."

Daphne shrugged. "I don't know, then. Ask her."

"How?" I asked.

"Something along the lines of 'Hey, Mom, does Dad know where I am?' would suffice."

"No, I mean, how? What am I supposed to do, call her?"

Daphne gave me a weird look. "Uh. Why not?"

"I can't call her!" I couldn't have sounded more scandalized if I was channeling Emmett.

"Why not?"

I rolled my eyes. "Because! Look, it's not like she's  _allowing_  me to stay with Deb. I didn't need her permission. She's lucky that she knows where I am at all. Just because she's happy I'm not dead in a ditch somewhere doesn't mean that she's suddenly Mom of the Year, and it definitely doesn't mean that I'm going to call her up to chat."

"Didn't you talk when she moved your stuff, on Sunday?" Daphne asked. She sounded puzzled, and plainly did not understand.

I shrugged. "Yeah. A little. She spent a lot of time reminiscing about my pre-kindergarten years. Remember when we peed on that fire hydrant, 'cause we saw your uncle's dog do it?"

"Yeah. And it took me three tries to actually get it on the hydrant!"

"Well, we can't all be blessed with projectile urine."

"Hey, I got pretty good at projecting my urine, by the end of the afternoon! You just have to put your finger—"

"Ewww, Daph!"

"Well, you started it."

The warning bell rang, signaling that we only had a few minutes before we were due in homeroom.

"Anyway," Daphne said, "we should hang out sometime this week. I think I still owe you babysitting, from when you paid for my fake ID."

"I'm not going out any time soon," I told her, shaking my head. "Don't worry about it."

"Why not?" Daphne asked.

"I'm just not. I'll see you in English?"

She nodded. "Yeah. See you."

 

I got home from school and found Vic sitting on the couch, and Luke standing and gripping the coffee table. He was taking slow steps without letting go—the baby books called it cruising—and Vic was encouraging him by pulling his stuffed hippo along the edge of the table.

"Any steps, yet?" I asked, privately hoping that I hadn't missed my son's first steps.

"Not yet," Vic said. "He's been asking for you, though."

I frowned. "What?"

Luke got his hands on the hippo, as Vic had stopped moving it when he'd turned to talk to me, and grabbed it happily. He managed to stand upright for a few moments, the hippo clutched in his hands, and then he fell back on his butt and giggled. Then his eyes focused on me.

"Da!"


	10. Accelerate

**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 10: Accelerate**

I wasn't 'Dada'. I don't think that I'd really been identified. I think it was more that Luke was now associating the syllable 'Da' with me, because even though sometimes he would use 'Da' and 'Dada', he would also use 'Dadadadadada' a lot, too. But Debbie insisted that it still counted as a first word.

I was so fucking proud. Daphne had to tell me to shut up about it on three separate occasions.

Luke's new tooth didn't surface until Thursday morning, meaning that he was cranky for another two days. I had a calculus test on Monday, and as a result of my two missed days, I was horribly behind in the class. My bio project was taking way too long to finish. My SATs were in six weeks, and I hadn't done a practice problem in over a week. And despite all this, I still found the time to worry about dinner on Sunday.

"It's not that I think they won't like me," I tried to explain to Daphne, who was supposed to be checking my calculus problems. "It's just that... they already think I'm a stupid twink. At best, they thought I was amusing. But with Luke... It's like, any chance that I might have had to prove myself before is just going to fly out the window. Now I'm a stupid twink with baggage and no future."

"Amusing?" Daphne said with a frown. "Like, they pitied you?"

I shook my head. "No, not pitied. I was interesting. It was like they thought that maybe..."

"What?"

 _That maybe Brian had finally met his match._

But I didn't say it out loud. It wasn't true, anyway—it was only wishful thinking on my part. And even if I was maybe a match for Brian Kinney, it didn't matter because I couldn't have him.

"Aren't you supposed to be checking my homework?" I asked her.

"You're the one who won't shut up about this dinner," Daphne retorted. She set down her pencil and sat back against the couch. "Since when do you care about making friends, anyway? I get why you wanted them to like you, before you gave up on Brian, but why does it matter now?"

"I... I don't know."

But I did know, and the words came bursting out of me before I knew what I was saying.

"I'm just so fucking sick of everyone thinking of me as a kid! Poor little Justin, he's got himself a crush on the King of Liberty Avenue. Poor little Justin, he's being picked on at school. Poor little Justin, his daddy doesn't love him. Poor little Justin, he doesn't really know what he wants, he's just confused, he's going through a phase, his daddy kicked him out, he's got nowhere to go—he can't even support his own goddamn  _son!_ "

Silence. My chest was heaving, and anger was racing through my veins and making my heart pound. It dissipated a little as Daphne reached over and put an arm around my shoulder, squeezing me gently. Shit.

"I could have done it, you know," I said stubbornly. "I could have gotten a job, paid for daycare—I could have."

"I know," she said—and she did. I knew she did. Her voice said it all.

"But I can't just go around yelling that or—or post a sign on my back, or something!" I turned to her in frustration, my hands balled into fists. "All anyone's going to see is some stupid twink freeloading off of Deb and not taking responsibility for himself. It's not who I am, Daph. That isn't me."

"Justin, anyone who takes the time to get to know you won't think that," Daphne said gently.

"But they're not  _going_  to take the time to get to know me! They're just going to judge me and write me off as a stupid teenager."

Daphne was quiet for a moment, thinking.

I put my head in my hands, pressing at my temples. "Fuck.  _Fuck_."

"All right, question."

"What?" I asked, looking up. My anger had cooled, and I was now feeling something more along the lines of misery.

"You'd do anything for Luke, wouldn't you?" Daphne asked. "I mean, anything. Give up your education, your art, Brian, your home..."

"I already did," I said.

"So, would you give up your pride?"

I gave a hollow laugh. "Is that what I'm doing?"

"Well, no. What you're doing is making a big deal out of nothing and worrying about something you can't control, but if—"

"Bitch," I muttered, elbowing her.

"Oh, shut up. You know I'm right."

I sighed and sat back into the couch, closing my eyes. "I really don't want to go to this dinner, Daph."

"You could fake being sick," Daphne suggested.

"I wouldn't be able to fool Debbie."

"You could  _really_  get sick."

"I hate being sick. Anyway, I'd be putting both Luke and Vic at risk."

"Allergic reaction?"

"But it..." I opened my eyes. "Actually. That's not a bad idea."

"Want me to go see if there's Tylenol in the bathroom?" Daphne asked.

"No, that'll put me in the hospital." I considered. "Actually, all my allergic reactions put me in the hospital. Shit, I guess that's off the table."

"Tell them your grandma died?"

"Wouldn't work—Debbie'd call Mom and find out I was lying."

Daphne sighed. "I don't know. You had an emergency... art... thing?"

"I could get accidentally locked in the Carnegie Museum of Art."

"Why do I get the feeling you've been planning on doing that at some point, anyway?"

She knew me too well.

I grinned. "The details are still a little sketchy, but it would be fuckin' awesome."

"You are such a nerd."

"You love me anyway," I said happily, laying my head on her shoulder. It would be cool to get locked in Carnegie, if I could find some way to turn the lights back on so that I could view paintings properly. There were a few of Picasso's works that I could—and sometimes did—stare at for hours. I loved sketching them, rendering the painting through my own eyes, watching as my own emotions twisted the planes and shades of the masterpieces—

I sat upright.

"Fuck 'em," I said.

Daphne blinked. "What?"

"You know? Fuck 'em," I repeated, my voice gaining confidence. "I'm brilliant. I'm hot. I'm a fucking great father, and I'm more mature than most people ten years my senior. If they want to judge me, it's their loss."

"Ah," Daphne said, after a moment. "And for a moment, I was worried about your self-esteem."

I beamed.

My self-esteem was alive and kicking, thank you very much. I was awesome. Anyone who disagreed could go fuck themselves.

 

"You sure you don't want me to babysit tonight?" Daphne asked.

We were stopped in the hallway, about to part ways. She had a Model UN meeting and I was on my way to the parking lot.

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Tomorrow night?"

"Why are you so desperate to be alone with my son?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Plotting something?"

Daphne shrugged. "I just thought that you might want to go out. It's been over a week since you had a night to yourself. Even if you're not chasing after Brian anymore, can't you still go dancing? It's Friday night!"

"I'm good," I said lightly.

"All right, whatever. I'll call you on Saturday, and we'll get together and crank out some math?" Daphne asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, sounds great."

We parted ways, but I had barely taken two steps outside of St. James when Chris Hobbs and his friend Riley spotted me.

"Hey, faggot!" Chris called, heading towards me. "Going back to the homeless shelter?"

"Fuck off, I'm not staying in a homeless shelter," I yelled over my shoulder, quickening my pace.

"You living with one of your buttfucker friends, then?" Chris asked. "Cocksucking for room and board?"

"No, I do that for fun," I shot back.

They had almost caught up to me. There was no point in running.

"Don't you have your little baby to worry about?" Riley asked.

"No, didn't you hear?" Chris had finally caught up to me and elbowed me roughly in the side, and I didn't dodge it quite fast enough. "That's why his daddy kicked him out of the house. Caught him molesting the little baby boy. That's what you fags do, isn't it?"

I gritted my teeth, shouldering past him and walking away.

They followed, snickering.

"Is that why you're raising the kid?" Riley taunted. "Waiting until he gets old enough for you—what's it you freaks like, five years old? Six years old?"

"That's fuckin' sick," Chris spat.

If I walked any faster I'd be running. Fury was pounding in my ears and I wanted to scream and whirl on them, but I knew that I couldn't afford to get into another fight—especially one where there was no one to hold Chris back except Riley, who'd sooner join in than help me out. I could see Sara's car. I was almost clear.

"'Course, the kid's probably already a faggot. It's Taylor's kid."

"Shit, I'd rather be dead."

"With any luck, he will be, before his daddy decides to touch him in all those 'special places'."

My hands were trembling with rage as I took out the ring of car keys.  _Don't say anything, don't say anything, don't say anything..._

"Hear that, Taylor? You better give that kid up for adoption or somethin' before all that queer rubs off on him—or just do him a favor and kill him, so he doesn't have to live with a faggot for a daddy!"

"And while you're at it, do the rest of us a favor and off yourself!"

"Motherfucking cocksucker."

I didn't dare look at either one of them as I unlocked my car, and they walked off in the direction of the football field. Probably to gang bang some cheerleaders. I sat in Sara's car for a long minute, trying to regain enough control to drive back to Debbie's.

 

I walked into the house, scooped up Luke and crushed him to my chest, pressing my face into his soft blonde hair.

"Everything okay?" Vic asked me, from his spot on the couch.

I didn't even look up. "Yes."

Vic didn't push the issue.

 

"Sunshine, phone for you!" Debbie yelled.

It was Saturday morning. It could only be one person.

I released the hippo that Luke and I had been playing tug-of-war with, and Luke wavered uneasily on his feet, clutching the hippo with both hands. He looked up at me as I stood, letting out a distressed, "Dadadadadadadada!"

"I'll be back," I promised him, before heading into the kitchen. "Dada has to go tell Daphne to come help him with his calculus homework."

"Dadadadadadada!"

He dropped the hippo, dropping to the ground and crawling after me.

I took the phone from Debbie. "Hey, Daph."

"Justin?"

I blinked. "Mom?"

"Hi, sweetheart! How are you doing?"

"Uh, good. Why are you calling?"

"Do I need an excuse to talk to my only son?"

Luke finally reached me and clamped onto my leg, pulling himself up into a standing position.

"Yes," I said frankly.

Mom sighed. "Justin, really."

"Oh. You mean Dad hasn't disowned me yet?" I asked.

"Your father just needs some time, Justin. He loves you."

"He loves me as long as I'm not queer or taking ownership of my own child," I said calmly. "And if you called to get me to forgive him, I'm hanging up now."

"Well, honestly Justin, it's not like you weren't provoking him."

"Oh, bull—"

"I'm not saying your father was right. I'm just saying that you aren't blameless here. But—look, I didn't call you to fight, sweetheart. Tell me about your week. How was school?"

I looked down at Luke, who had latched onto my leg like a good little limpet, chewing on the denim of my jeans. I thought about telling Mom that he'd spoken his first word, but I held myself back.

"Mom, I've got to go. I'm waiting for Daphne to call."

"I'm sure you can talk for five minutes."

I sighed. "I'm fine. School was fine. I'm almost caught up on the work that I missed during those two days, and I have a calculus test on Monday, which Daphne and I are going to study for today—which is why I'm waiting for her to call. Like, right now."

"Are you okay, living with Debbie? Is everything all right there?"

"It's fantastic—Luke settled in really well, and Debbie's a great cook," I said, with perhaps a little too much honesty.

"We'd love... Oh, Justin. Why don't you come over for dinner this week? I'll make fajitas. You always loved my fajitas, remember?"

"I'm not having dinner with the man who tried to kill Brian," I said flatly.

Luke had gotten bored of trying to chew a hole through my jeans with his three teeth, and was back down on his butt, jamming his hand down into my left sock and babbling away.

"You missed Molly's birthday," Mom said suddenly.

"I'm sure that Luke wasn't invited."

"You couldn't have asked Debbie to watch him for an hour?" Mom asked.

I gritted my teeth. "I wasn't aware the check you gave her covered babysitting services. Look, I have to go. Daphne's supposed to call."

"All right, all right," Mom finally sighed. She sounded tired. "I love you. Call me soon, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," I said, completely not meaning it.

"Good bye, sweetheart."

"Bye, Mom."

 

Five o'clock on Sunday arrived way too quickly for my liking—but then, it could have never come at all and I would have been pretty damn happy about it. Emmett was the first to arrive. I wanted to hide in the bathroom, but unfortunately, Debbie had placed me in charge of opening the door and taking coats since she was busy in the kitchen. So, stealing myself, positioning Luke on my hip, I opened the door and smiled.

"Baby!" Emmett squealed, pulling me into a hug.

Luke protested, and Emmett drew back.

"And... um, other baby," he said, with less enthusiasm. "Isn't he adorable?"

I stepped back and allowed Emmett to come in. "Thanks. His name's Luke."

"That's what Debbie said." Emmett, never able to hide his emotions in his voice, sounded almost nervous. Uncertain. Reserving judgment, or just afraid to show that he'd already passed it?

 _Fuck 'em_ , I thought, confidence surging through my veins.

"He's my son," I added, raising him a little higher on my hip and shaping my face into an expression that just  _dared_  Emmett to say the wrong thing.

Emmett's face split into a grin. "As if he could be anything else, with that head of hair."

I beamed.

The uncertainty in Emmett's expression was gone.

"But what on earth do you have him wearing?" Emmett suddenly demanded, sliding a finger under the strap of Luke's overalls. "Honey, this is a hideous. The child is going to be traumatized before he's two."

"Buy him some new clothes, then," I replied. "I could care less what he wears, and do you know how much baby clothes cost?"

Luke wasn't paying any attention to Emmett, too busy pushing his fingers into my chest like he was determined that, if he only pushed hard enough, he could poke through my shirt and spear me between the ribs. Which was an alarmingly violent thought, for a baby.

"I may just have to, if I'm going to be seen with him in public," Emmett said seriously.

I rolled my eyes, and then held out a hand. "I'm supposed to be taking coats."

Emmett's coat was, of course, a violent turquoise color with a fluffy white lining around the hood. I supposed that I should have been grateful that there weren't sparkles on it anywhere.

"Are they making you earn your keep, then?" Emmett asked, as he shrugged off his coat.

"It was either this or chop firewood," I confided, lowering my voice. "And Deb keeps threatening something about a sandwich board and new advertising plans for the diner..."

Emmett laughed, and I took his coat. But both of my hands were required to hang it up and stick it in the closet, which meant that Luke had to go elsewhere.

"You want to hold him?" I asked, turning Luke in his direction.

Emmett's eyes widened slightly. "Uh. You know what, I think I'm better off without squirming, valuable things in my hands. Thanks."

I shrugged and then leaned over, setting Luke on the ground.

Luke did not like this. He let out a displeased string of syllables and turned his head up, his arms raising.

"Give me a minute, you little drama queen," I muttered, stuffing a hanger into the shoulders of Emmett's coat.

"Da! Dadadada! Dada!"

"Emmett!" Debbie's voice called from the kitchen. "Get in here and start setting the table."

Luke was building up to a crying mess by the time I'd finished hanging the coat, his arms reaching up and his eyes watching me. I picked him up, rolling my eyes, and began soothing him with soft words. I had him quiet by the time Michael and David arrived, and David insisted that he could hang both his and Michael's coats himself, so I sat down on the couch and played with Luke and his hippo. David wanted to hold Luke, but when he tried to pick him up, Luke burst into tears and started screaming for me.

"Sorry," I apologized, as an alarmed David deposited him back into my lap. "He's been weirdly clingy tonight."

David smiled slightly. "It's all right, I understand. My son, Hank, would go through phases like that all the time. He usually went for his mother, though—he'd scream for hours when she went off to work and he only had me."

"Well, I'm all he's got," I said with a shrug, rubbing circles on Luke's back.

David raised an eyebrow, as though he was expecting me to say more, but luckily, the front door opened and Lindsay and Melanie came tumbling in with a baby carrier clutched between them. I blinked in surprise for a moment, not having expected that they would bring Gus.

I glanced down at Luke, who had recovered from the trauma of almost being (heaven forbid) held by another person.

"Hey, Justin," Melanie said, coming up from behind the couch. "Good to see you."

I tried to set Luke on the floor, but he started to fuss so I resigned myself to the fact that I would be spending the night holding him. The little drama queen.

"Deb told us what's been going on," Lindsay told me, her eyes flickering between Luke and I. "We're happy that you managed to land on your feet—you're very lucky to have found someone like Deb."

I felt a burst of defiance, but pushed it down. It didn't matter whether or not I could have made it without Deb's help. It didn't matter that they thought I was taking advantage of her generosity, that I wasn't capable of taking care of myself and Luke. I just had to swallow my pride, grin and bear it.

"Yeah, we're very lucky," I agreed, looking at Luke as I said it.

"We brought Gus, although he hasn't shown any real interest in other babies yet," Melanie said, setting the carrier on the couch. It was piled with blankets, but I assumed that the slight twitchings indicated that Gus was strapped in underneath, probably starting to overheat now that he wasn't in out in the bitter November wind.

"What do you think, Luke?" I asked softly, bouncing him a little. "Wanna make a friend tonight?"

Lindsay began picking blankets off of the baby carrier, and I offered to take Melanie's coat, but she brushed me off.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I can hang my own goddamn coat, the closet's right here."

"Dinner's up!" Deb yelled from the kitchen. Then, even louder, "Vic! Come down and eat!"

I suddenly realized, as Gus was finally unveiled from beneath his blankets, that we had only one highchair and two babies to feed. But it was pushed to the back of my mind when a more urgent problem suddenly appeared at the front door.

Brian was here.

I swallowed. I forcibly reminded myself that my time with Brian was over, that I'd given him up for Luke. I couldn't have him. I wouldn't even try to have him.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Melanie said dryly.

"Like I'd let some piece of pussy drag me anywhere," Brian fired back. His eyes went to Gus momentarily, who was being lifted from his carrier by Lindsay, and then over to me. "Although if I'd known that there were going to be so many children..."

"What are you all waiting for?" Debbie demanded, sticking her head out. "Go and sit down. And it's about time you started coming to these dinners, asshole. Sunshine, take his coat, will you? Oh, and Gus is here! Hello, cutie! Ooo, yes, hello to  _you!_ "

Melanie and Brian wore twin expressions of revulsion at Debbie's cooings, and I had to agree, though I'd become used to it over the past week. Luke, unfortunately, got the same treatment.

"Take your coat?" I asked, stepping up to Brian.

He raised an eyebrow. "Deb training you to be a good little housewife already?"

"Well, you know me," I said sardonically, shifting Luke higher up on my hip and glaring. "Always submissive and silent. Only a matter of time before my dick falls off and I start growing a twat."

Brian grinned. "Now where's a little thing like you learn such dirty words?"

"From the creepy old men who like to molest me."

"Better not use that language at the kiddie table, tonight."

"Will you two quit flirting and get your asses over here?" Debbie demanded. "It's getting cold!"

"Hang your own coat," I told Brian, before leaving him to go over to the table. I spotted Lindsay dragging the highchair over, but when her eyes caught sight of me, she suddenly realized the same problem that I'd spotted a few minutes ago.

"Oh," she said, stopping. Her eyes went between the two babies.

"I can just hold Luke," I said quickly. "Gus can have the highchair."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, it's fine. Can someone hold him quickly, while I get his dinner? It's just on the counter..."

"I got it, Sunshine," Debbie declared, heading back into the kitchen.

"Ma!" Michael protested. "The doctors said to take it easy."

"I am taking it easy," Debbie insisted.

Michael glared at me.

"Now, now, Mikey," Brian said as he came up behind me. "Your mom's been raising other peoples' children for years. I don't think two more are going to kill her."

Fuck. Even Brian thought that I was freeloading off of Debbie!

It hurt more than I thought it would.

"She's not raising me or Luke," I said stubbornly, pulling out the nearest chair and sitting down. I forced myself to leave it at that, not plunging into the independence-asserting rant that I so desperately wanted to go on.

Brian sat down in the chair next to me. Still smarting about his dig at my independence, I felt more irritated than excited.

"That's right," Debbie agreed, coming back in with the little plate I'd prepared for Luke just before I'd been stuck with coat duty and a bottle of formula. "And besides, Sunshine's doing a better job of raising his kid than you are with yours."

"He's not raising him at all," Melanie said, scowling at Brian. "He's just the sperm donor."

Brian leaned forward, tongue in his cheek. "And yet for some reason, I'm paying ludicrous amounts of money every month, into a life insurance policy for my little swimmers. Most expensive ejaculation of my life."

"See, this is exactly why we wanted Brian as the father," Lindsay put in, smiling slightly.

Emmett snorted. "Because he's grossly overpaid?"

"Because he's the most self-centered asshole we know," Melanie said obviously. "We knew he'd want nothing to do with him."

There was general agreement around the table, and before I knew what I was doing I was speaking up.

"That's not true," I protested. "Brian loves Gus!"

"Brian is sitting right here, in case you've all forgotten," Brian interjected, over the snorts that my comment had elicited. "And, miraculously, he can speak for himself."

The last bit was directed at me, with a particularly nasty look. I stared back defiantly, unwilling to take back my words. I knew it was true. I'd seen the way that Brian's eyes softened, the way that his entire body suddenly came to a new orbit around the tiny baby in his arms, and I had drawn it too many times to count. He loved Gus, even if he was too much of a coward to admit it.

Brian eventually broke the stare when Debbie passed him the bread bowl.

I turned my attention to Luke, who was reaching for the pile of apple puffs on his plate but wasn't quite able to reach, from where he was seated on my lap. I shifted him farther forward so that he could eat, holding him with one hand and then using my other to carefully serve myself some of the casserole sitting in the middle of the table.

"So where's Ted?" Lindsay asked.

"Some opera," Emmett answered, in a long-suffering tone. "He asked me to come along, but sadly, I'm allergic."

"To opera?" Vic asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Emmett nodded. "Makes me break out in hives every time."

I grinned and spooned up some fish-applesauce for Luke.

"Which opera is he seeing?" David asked.

Emmett shrugged.

"Don't tell me you like opera," Michael said incredulously.

David shrugged. "Not generally, but I love anything by Mozart."

"Now I remember why I avoid these things," Brian said, on my right. "The riveting conversation. It's almost too much."

"Shut up and eat," Debbie snapped at him.

Brian sighed. "I just can't win, Deb—you yell when I don't come, you yell when I do come..."

"That just makes you a really generous lover," I said.

There was a pause. Everyone stared.

Brian smirked, reaching over and ruffling my hair. "That's my boy."

I jerked my head away, glaring.

"Dadadadadada!" Luke leaned forward, arms swinging and trying to grab onto my hand, which was poised over his dinner. I quickly delivered.

"So, how old is your son?" Lindsay asked, changing the subject.

"Nine months," I answered, continuing to feed him. "He'll be one on January 27th."

"And you're raising him by yourself?" Melanie asked.

"Yeah."

"That's a lot of responsibility," Lindsay commented.

I narrowed my eyes, sensing for the first time a hint of disapproval in her voice. The avoidance of her eyes. Lindsay had been raised as I had—in the country club, where nothing was ever said outright. I could tell from the way that she'd sat down, the way she'd unfolded her napkin, and the way that she methodically returned her silverware to their original place settings. And she was telling me, in the same way my mother's friends had, that she didn't like the idea of me raising Luke.

Fuck her.

"Somehow, I've been managing," I said coolly, pushing down the hurt. It wasn't hard. There was enough anger burning in me to make up for it.

Lindsay eyed me, not missing the tone of my voice, and then started feeding Gus his mashed peas.

I fed Luke the rest of his fish-applesauce mix, and then let him feed himself apple puffs as I ate the rest of my meal. I didn't participate in much more of the conversation. After all, what was there to say? Michael resented my very presence. Brian, Lindsay and Melanie clearly thought that I was just an irresponsible jerk-off who was taking advantage of Debbie's kindness. No one else cared. I just had to make it through this meal, and then I could be alone in my room with Luke. And I could see Daphne tomorrow, in school—

I abruptly realized that Luke was sliding off my leg a little too much, and I shifted him back to the center. It was only after I did so that I noticed Luke had Brian's wrist clutched in his hands, utterly fixated on the cowry shell bracelet was tied there. And Brian... Brian was letting him look.

I stared, watching as he let Luke pull at the bracelet, stick his finger between the shells, slide his hand underneath it, and eventually drag Brian's hand onto his lap—and by extension, my lap.

Brian and I shared a glance. I wasn't sure what I was reading in his eyes, but it wasn't judgment. It wasn't condescension.

What was it?

 

After dinner, we migrated into the living room while Debbie and Emmett set to work on dessert, which "just needed a few more touches before we could set it in the oven". Whatever that meant. So I was on the floor with Luke, who had finally decided that he didn't need to be in contact with me at all times and was playing his favorite game of stand-and-fall. He giggled madly every time he landed on his butt.

"Your kid is bizarre," Brian observed.

Melanie was holding Gus in her lap, with an expression on her face that suggested she was afraid Gus would catch Luke's strangeness if she let him get too close.

I shrugged. "He's been doing it ever since he figured out how to stand. Eventually, he'll figure out that walking is more fun than falling on his butt."

"I keep telling him, you spend the first two years of their life teaching them to walk and talk," Debbie yelled from the kitchen, "and the next sixteen telling them to sit down and shut up!"

"Ma!" Michael whined, while everyone else rolled their eyes.

"So what's the plan for you, Justin?" Melanie asked, settling back into her chair. "You're a senior, right?"

Oh, I didn't like this conversation. I didn't like it one bit, and it hadn't even started yet.

"Yeah," I said, with a nod. "So I have to graduate before I can do anything, really."

"Are you still considering art school?" Lindsay asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"There are scholarships for single parents, you know," David put in. "I'm sure you could get one, if your scores are good enough."

"And even if you only end up at a community college, an associate's degree is better than nothing," Melanie said. "And I suppose the same goes for technical school."

I nodded stiffly.

"Well, Justin knows he's allowed to stay here as long as he'd like to," Vic said, and then with a grin in my direction, he added, "Or until he gets sick of Sis' cooking."

"Well, that'll take two weeks," Brian muttered.

Michael protested, and David put in something about the history of some pasta dish I didn't recognize, and soon the conversation turned into Vic and David comparing the various restaurants that they had eaten at. I broke in long enough to ask Vic to watch Luke for a moment, and then excused myself to run up to the bathroom.

I forced myself to walk calmly up the stairs, and took care not to slam the door behind me when I finally made it into the bathroom.

I sunk down onto the toilet, trembling slightly.

It was hitting me all of a sudden.

Technical school. Was that really what my future had been cut down to? Was the really the most I could hope to achieve in life?

I couldn't live with Debbie for five years. There was no way my mother was going to be able to pay for Luke and I for that long, and anyway, I couldn't let myself take advantage of her like that. I had to get my own place. I had to get a job, and find Luke either a babysitter or a daycare. Where would I have the time to go to college? More importantly, where would I get the money to  _pay_  for college? I knew my father wasn't going to pay for it.

Art school was out of the question. It was too much of a gamble. Despite what I had told my parents about attending PIFA, that was a dream that I was going to have to let go of.

Maybe technical school wasn't such a bad idea. I could learn a quick trade and probably start off at a slightly higher pay grade than normal, and work my way up from there... But  _fuck_. Technical school? What was I going to learn, welding? My PSAT scores had projected that I would score at least a 1450 on the SAT. I had a ridiculous GPA, a whole stack of AP classes, and an almost flawless school record.

I could get an academic scholarship, maybe to a school in Pittsburgh, and major in something practical... But it would have to be a full ride, and I could still only go part-time...

Fuck!

I rose up off the toilet seat, shoving the thoughts out of my head. This was nothing new. I'd known all this before the dinner—it had just really been laid down over my head, tonight, that I wasn't going anywhere with my life, and I probably never would.

So my future was fucked. So everyone now thought less of me, because of Luke. So I was completely alone in the world.

The tears rose up quick and hot, but I swallowed, turned on the faucet and splashed water on my face. I wasn't some little crying faggot. I was Justin Taylor, and I was the most mature, responsible courageous person I knew.

I took in a deep breath, checked the mirror to make sure that the last of my tears had disappeared, and opened the door.

Brian smiled. "Hey there, Sunshine."

"Sorry," I apologized, stepping out hurriedly. "I didn't realize that you were waiting for the bathroom."

"I wasn't waiting for the bathroom," Brian said. His smile suddenly turned predatory. "But you were in there for quite a while. Taking care of a little problem?"

I blinked.

He thought that I'd run upstairs to jerk off?

"No," I said shortly. "And before you ask, I don't have any problems that you can take care of at the moment, either. So either go in there and pee, or go back downstairs."

Brian's eyebrows shot up. "Well, aren't you feisty tonight?"

"I'm over you," I said stolidly.

Yeah. Right.

Brian didn't look fooled, either.

"And even if I'm not, I'm not interested in someone who pities me, so fuck off," I snapped, and I tried to shove past him but he pushed me back easily.

"Pity makes my dick soft," Brian growled, his hands clamped on my shoulders, his face too close to mine in the dark hallway. "You're hot and I want to fuck you. If you think there's anything more to it than that, allow me to fuck the thought right out of your head."

"I didn't need you to get Deb to take me in," I said through clenched teeth. "I didn't need your fucking help. I was fine on my own."

"Whatever. Bedroom's this way."

Brian yanked me off the wall and steered me down the hallway and into Michael's old room.

"Wait, you're going to fuck me? Like, right now?"

Brian nipped at my ear as he pushed me into the bedroom. "Not if you're going to keep talking this much."

"But—but I lied to you," I said desperately. My head was spinning, but my cock was hardening against my will. Shit, shit, shit. "I have a son!"

"And you worked off the baby weight so quickly, too."

I struggled against, but he pulled me back flush against him with one arm across my abdomen, mouth attached to my neck, and his hand gently tweaked my nipple ring. Somehow, his other hand had unbuttoned my jeans, and at the same time he was sliding it inside and cupping my balls, squeezing them lightly.

Pleasure ran down my spine and went straight into my pelvis. Fuck. I groaned and fell back against him completely.

"I hate you," I gasped.

But by the time he pushed me onto the bed, our tangled legs causing him to fall right with me, all of my protests had slipped out of my mind and all I could think was:

 _More_.

 

Brian and I managed to fuck all the way to an orgasm in less than five minutes. But I was seventeen and hadn't gotten laid in almost two weeks, so I was horny again in seconds, and Brian was Brian, so he was horny again in seconds too. He was in the middle of giving me a blow job that I think was going to turn into a simultaneous finger-fuck, from the way Brian's hand was creeping behind my balls, when there was a banging at the bedroom door. And Brian probably would have ignored it, even when Michael's voice called out, "Hey! I swear to God, if you two are doing what I think you're doing...", but in the brief moment of pause that came over us at Michael's voice, I registered the sound of crying.

Luke's crying.

And it sounded like it was coming from out in the hallway.

"Fuck," I swore, pushing myself onto my elbows, all thoughts of sex vanishing.

Brian's head came up. "What?"

"Luke," I muttered, sliding out from under him and looking around for my underwear. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

"I'm opening the door in three seconds," Michael warned from out in the hall, over the sound of Luke's bawling.

I snatched up my underwear, pulling it on, then decided that Luke was more important than preserving the rest of my modesty and opened the door.

Michael looked irritated, and it only intensified upon seeing me. My eyes, though, were immediately on Luke, who was being held awkwardly and not helping things at all by struggling against Michael's inexperienced hold.

"What happened?" I demanded, taking Luke before he was dropped.

"Seriously, Mikey, you couldn't have waited two more minutes?" Brian groused. He was still buck-naked, scowling from his spot on the bed.

"The kid wouldn't stop crying. He was fine one moment, and then next he was screaming his head off," Michael said defensively, folding his arms over his chest. He glared. "You know, you don't make much of a father. You can't dump the kid on Ma every time you want to get fucked."

"What do you know about good fathers, anyway?" I snapped, while bouncing Luke a little in an effort to get him to calm down. It was working, thankfully.

It was likely that he'd just freaked out when he'd discovered himself in a room full of strangers and I had been nowhere in sight.

Fuck. Fuck, I  _was_  a horrible father.

"Are you coming back downstairs?" Michael asked Brian, in what was practically a whine.

"Well, I wasn't planning on exiting through the window," Brian said dryly.

"C'mon, get dressed and go downstairs. Ma's almost got the pie ready."

Brian's eyes flicked over to me, where I was standing in only my underwear with my arms full of a quieted Luke, and I felt suddenly vulnerable.

"In a minute," Brian said, after a pause.

Michael glanced at me, too, and I scowled back almost reflexively. He threw me a dirty look then turned back to Brian, shrugging. "Okay, I'll wait. What, do you need a minute to clean up?"

With a sigh, Brian pushed himself off of the bed and took Michael by the shoulders, steering him towards the door as he had me towards the bedroom, less than ten minutes ago. "You go back down to your doctor and have a piece of pie for me. I'm sure I'll manage to find the living room all by my little self."

And I watched in amazement as, despite Michael's protests, Brian pushed him all the way out of the room and then shut the door behind him, locking it (although you could simply undo the lock from the outside with a butter knife, or an uncut fingernail, I think it was more about the symbolism). Michael didn't continue to protest from out in the hall, though, and Brian wordlessly made his way back to the bed, flopping down.

Luke had his head buried into my chest, and I could feel his snot and drool beginning to dry on the skin. Gross.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "He's been weirdly clingy all night."

"Stick him in the crib, we'll finish," Brian answered, without lifting his head.

"Right." I paused. "You know, the kids at school think that I'm molesting him?"

"Fuck 'em."

I wanted to roll my eyes at his oh-so-helpful advice, but instead I just backed myself against the wall and slid the floor.

Brian eyed me. "So I want to know—how'd you get my cell phone number?"

"You dialed it once, on your land line, when you couldn't find it," I told him. "I saw you dial. It's kind of weird—I memorize phone numbers as shapes, not as numbers, so I remember them really easily. Yours is kind of like a slanty lightning bolt."

Brian frowned and started dialing his number in midair, squinting. "A lightning bolt, huh?"

I shrugged. "It's weird."

"No shit."

"Are you gonna put clothes on?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Well, no. But you should. You need to go downstairs before Michael comes back with reinforcements."

Brian grunted, letting his head fall back on the pillow.

I turned my attention to Luke, who was starting to stir. His face was a mess. Pushing myself up and off the wall, I made my way over to the dresser which was doubling as a changing table, and grabbed a soft cloth to wipe his face. I wanted to keep up a running commentary for him, to try to get him to expand his vocabulary and try new words, but I knew that it would piss Brian off so I kept quiet.

I was coming to the realization that on my list of people that I wanted in my life, Luke was absolutely number one. But Brian was sitting solidly in second place, and wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

So much for giving up on him.

But...

"I would have made it on my own, you know," I said, turning to face him. "I would have. I wish you'd believe that."

"Doesn't matter what I believe, Sunshine," Brian replied, sounding amused.

I frowned. "It matters to me."

"Would it make you feel better about yourself?"

Oh, the sarcasm.

"It'd be nice to have one person who believed in me," I said, setting my jaw stubbornly. Fuck him, if he was going to be an asshole about it. I could match his honesty with my own.

"That's bullshit," Brian said lightly. "Trust me. Total bullshit. No one's ever going to really believe in you. Not even your kid."

"I'm not talking about absolute faith, I'm talking about a recognition of capability and maturity," I argued. "Of the fact that I'm not some stupid twink taking advantage of Deb's kindness."

"Just tell anyone who thinks that to go fuck themselves," Brian said easily.

"Do you think that?"

"That what?"

"That I can't take care of myself."

"Well, you're alive, aren't you?" Brian asked.

"Oh my God," I muttered, closing my eyes. "Just... forget it."

Tiny fingers prodded at my mouth. "Da!"

I opened my eyes to see Brian reaching for his pants.

"Going down for pie, or are you hitting Babylon?" I asked.

Brian grunted and buttoned his jeans. "Get your clothes on. Deb's gonna come pull us downstairs by our ears if we aren't there when she pulls that fucking pie out of the oven."

"I'm sure that no one would mind if I stayed up here," I said moodily.

Brian rolled his eyes. "Yeah, hide in your bedroom all night. That'll show 'em."

"Fuck you," I snapped, hurt.

What did I have to go downstairs to? Michael, who hated me. Melanie and Lindsay, who thought that I was a total jerk-off. David, who felt bad for me. I'd dealt with it all evening, and I was fucking tired.

"Will you stop being a princess and get your fucking clothes on?" Brian sighed, pulling his shirt over his head.

I glared, but set Luke down in his crib to go seek out the rest of my clothes. The sound of fabric rushing over my ears as I pulled my shirt over my head almost drowned out Brian's quiet words.

"You would have made it."

I yanked the shirt down as fast as I could, but he was already unlocking the door and leaving, leaving me staring after him in shock.


	11. Terminal

  
**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 11: Terminal**   


"Anyway, you know it's going to be at least two weeks until we get our tests back," I grouched to Daphne. "Like, what's he doing with them, anyway? Taking pictures of each page so we can't go and modify it afterward, and then ask for a grade change?"

Daphne giggled. "He would, you know. If he could figure out how to work a camera."

I moaned. "But I want my test back now!"

"Just don't think about it," Daphne said, patting my shoulder sympathetically. "Here—tell me about dinner last night! How did it go?"

Daphne had had a dentist appointment this morning, and we'd spent lunch period cramming for calculus, so both of our usual time slots had been nixed today. Now, after the school day had finally ended, was the first chance we'd had all day to really talk.

"It was fucked, just like I thought it would be," I said, shrugging.

Daphne made a face. "What happened?"

I opened the door and lost my breath for a moment as bitter wind cut right through my jacket and into my chest. My eyes watered, and I bent my head down, shuffling outside against the wind, and waited for Daphne to catch up before I started speaking.

"Michael still hates me, his boyfriend feels bad for me, and Melanie and Lindsay think I'm just a stupid kid who should have given Luke up for adoption." I considered things for a moment. "Although Emmett was nice enough. And Brian fucked me, so he can't be completely disgusted with me."

"Oh my God,  _what?_ "

I couldn't hold back my grin. "Yep."

"Oh my God! Oh my God, Justin, I knew you weren't over him. You big liar!" She squealed as she slapped me on the shoulder. "I knew you still loved him!"

"It's just fucking, though," I told her, rolling my eyes a little at her enthusiasm. "I mean, he's pretty much acting like Luke doesn't exist. It's not like he's suddenly decided to become his second daddy."

"Do you want that?" Daphne asked.

I shrugged. "I mean, yeah. A second father in general would be great for Luke, but I don't think Brian..."

I trailed off, the words slipping out of my head as I saw who was standing on the sidewalk.

"Hey, what—oh. Oh my God."

I stood there, too stunned to move.

Cal's face was haggard and set in deep, sagging lines, his hair looked as though it hadn't been washed in several days, and he didn't even seem to notice the biting wind, or the fact that his coat was entirely too thin to be keeping him warm. He swayed a little, in the wind.

Then he caught sight of me and straightened, his face suddenly coming to life.

"Oh my God," Daphne repeated.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was marching right up to him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded.

He smelled like he'd bathed in rum.

"I came to see Luke," Cal said, a slight smile on to his face.

"You stay the fuck away from him."

Cal blinked.

"You lost all rights to him when you walked out on us," I snapped. My heart was pounding furiously, and my palms were shaking—I had no idea whether I was afraid or angry, but whichever it was, I could barely keep myself under control. "And I'll be damned if you think that you can waltz back in and take him back. He's my son.  _Mine_. I won't let you take him away from me."

"I only want to see him," Cal said, sounding lost. "That's all. He must be so big, now."

"You're not getting within a hundred feet of him."

"I just want to see him," Cal repeated.

I glared at him, hiking my backpack up my shoulder a little higher. "You're drunk."

"Please, just let me see him. I need to see my grandson. My Luke. He's all I've got left."

"Look, Cal..."

"Please," Cal pleaded, tears coming to his eyes. He grabbed my hand, holding it in both of his, looking one step away from getting down on his knees. "I want to see him. I tried to come last night, but your father slammed the door in my face, he said you don't live there anymore... Justin, please. I don't understand. I just want to see him. Why can't I see him?"

"Justin, he's totally fucked up," Daphne said warily.

My mind was racing.

"I want you to go to your house and shower," I ordered, my voice shaking slightly. "Get new clothes on. Don't so much as look at a bottle of alcohol for the next twenty-four hours. And meet me tomorrow at the Liberty Diner, at five."

"Will Luke be there? He's still blond, isn't he? All that beautiful blond hair..."

"I'll bring him, but I swear to God, if you've been drinking, I'll leave and never let you see him again," I added, my voice hardening.

Desperately, my brain was trying to process things. Cal was back. Cal wanted to see Luke. I was letting him see Luke.

What was I thinking?

As Daphne hustled me away from Cal, the same question was obvious in her eyes, though she didn't say it aloud. I was grateful. I don't know what I would have said.

 

I wanted to call my mother and tell her that Cal was back in town, but I had her number halfway dialed (home phone number was shaped like a flattened rhombus) when I realized telling her this wouldn't accomplish anything. Dad had clearly given up on me completely. I would have expected him to have yanked Cal into the house, called a lawyer, and had me served with a custody hearing first thing in the morning. But he'd given up on me. He probably hadn't even told Mom that he'd seen Cal.

Mom hadn't given up on me. She'd probably try to get me to give Luke to Cal, try to get me to come home... try to get me to turn straight?

Fuck her.

I could deal with this on my own.

 

Later on Monday evening, just as I was settling down with my homework in the living room after I'd gotten Luke to sleep (it had been bath night, and he'd carried on unreasonably for almost an hour afterward), the phone rang.

"Got it!" Debbie announced, though in a muted voice compared to her normal booming tone.

I shrugged and opened my bio textbook. I had all the data for my project, but the second half of the project was more theoretical and required an unfairly thorough knowledge of plant hormones. I had gotten through the second paragraph on the effects of auxin when I heard my name.

"Oh, no, Sunshine would love to do that! Anyway, I've got a shift. Sunshine, come here."

I frowned, having no idea who it could be. Not Cal. He didn't know where I was staying, and he didn't have a working telephone in his house to be calling on. My mother? Daphne? Hell, Brian?

"Hey Justin, it's Melanie," Melanie announced, when I picked up the phone.

I blinked. "Oh. Um, hi. What's up?"

"Well, Lindsay and I were wondering if you wanted to make a little money on Friday night."

"Sure," I said, still surprised. "Um, I mean, I'd love to make money. But I don't know if I can get someone to watch Luke."

"Well, see, that's the thing, kiddo. We need a babysitter for Gus."

She sounded only a little bit reluctant in telling me.

"Oh."

"It would be at our house. I'm sure that we've got most of what your kid needs, anyway. What do you say?"

Always with the 'your kid'. Did no one want to acknowledge that Luke had a name?

"Sure," I said, keeping my irritation to myself. "What time do you want me over there?"

"Oh... Five would be good, even though we don't have to leave until five-thirty. Lindsay's got a whole list of shit she'll want to run over with you. We're just going to a dinner that my firm wants me to attend, so we should be back by ten."

Something came to life in my mind. An idea. A question.

"Are you a lawyer?" I asked.

I didn't want to ask her—it was too private, too personal, too... But I had to know, and Luke was more important than my pride. We'd established that on Sunday, hadn't we?

"Yes, I am. And if you crack so much as half of a lawyer joke, I'll kick your ass," Melanie threatened, only somewhat playfully.

"No, no," I said quickly. "I have a question, actually. Um. If you don't mind."

"Nope. Shoot."

"Just—I don't have to go through any adoption process, right? Because Luke is biologically mine, no one can question my legal right to him?"

"His mother passed away two months ago, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then you're good," Melanie said. Her voice had taken on a brusque tone that I recognized was probably her 'courtroom' voice. "You've got every legal right to him. If someone wants to challenge you for custody, they'll have to do it on the grounds that you're an unfit parent, not on your actual rights to raise him. Why? Did someone serve you with court papers?"

"No, nothing like that." I wasn't inclined to share much more than I had to—I was uncomfortable enough, asking her. "I was just curious."

"Well, there's your answer. So we'll see you on Friday evening?"

"I'll be there," I promised.

We said our goodbyes and hung up. I was caught off guard, however, when Debbie pulled me into a hug on my way back to the living room.

"Um."

She released me, grinning broadly. "See, honey? And you were worried that they wouldn't accept you."

"I never said that," I said instantly.

Debbie gave me a knowing look.

"I wasn't worried," I insisted.

Also, Melanie hadn't 'accepted' me. She'd just been desperate for a babysitter. But I didn't say that part out loud.

"Well then," Debbie said, patting me on the shoulder. "I was just givin' you a hug for the hell of it."

I rolled my eyes as Vic chuckled from his armchair, and went back to my biology homework.

 

The following day, as I was leaving the house with Luke in one hand and a diaper bag in the other, Vic wandered downstairs and asked where I was going.

"To meet a friend for dinner," I said vaguely.

By happy coincidence, Debbie had a PFLAG meeting at five and wouldn't be working until eight, tonight. Vic moaned about having to fend for himself for a moment or so, but told me to scoot, when I offered to bring him a doggie bag.

I was surprised to see, when I arrived at the diner fifteen minutes later, that Cal was already inside. I could see him sitting by himself through the front window. He wasn't paying attention to much beyond the top of the table he was seated at, so I took the opportunity to check his appearance.

He'd showered, changed his clothes, shaved, and now wore a weather-appropriate coat. He still looked like a corpse. Whether or not he'd been drinking remained to be seen.

It was really fucking cold outside, and I still hadn't gotten around to buying one of those puffy snow-suit things for Luke, so I didn't stare for much longer and hurried inside where it was warm.

I tentatively sniffed the air near Cal, but couldn't smell any alcohol, so I slid in the booth across from him with Luke. "Hi."

He looked up in surprise, eyes widening and then fastening on to Luke. There wasn't a lot of him visible—because I was still lacking a legitimate winter outfit for him, I had him dressed in multiple layers and a hat, as well as a thick blanket that was practically swaddling him.

Cal himself looked even worse up close. His skin was mottled and grayish, sagging in places and making it look as though he had lost fifty pounds in the last month. Cal had always been tall and thin, but now he just looked like a skeleton with skin pinned up in places.

The waitress—or waiter, I couldn't tell—stopped at our table. "I can get you a high chair, sweetie."

I nodded. "That'd be great, thanks."

"Can I hold him?" Cal asked, his voice with an almost hoarse quality to it.

I hesitated, and then nodded. "Yeah. Just let me get him undressed so he doesn't overheat, first."

I didn't want to hand him over. I don't know what I thought Cal was going to do with him, but I took my time unwrapping the blanket, pulling off the little green hat (it had antennae coming out of the top, like an alien's—a present from Daphne), unzipping the little sweater...

Luke had lived with Cal for eight months, I reminded myself as I pulled the sweater off of his other arm. Cal would never hurt him. Cal just wanted to see his grandson.

But still, I couldn't quash the rising dread in my stomach as I lifted Luke up and over the table, into Cal's waiting, trembling hands.

I almost snatched him back when I saw the trembling hands.

"Hi, Luke," Cal breathed, holding Luke out from his body and taking him in. There was a wide smile on his face that made him look slightly less dead. "Hey, kiddo."

Luke, predictably, began to whimper and squirm, distressed with the lack of support, and my hands were underneath him in an instant.

I glared. "He doesn't like to be dangled. Or did you forget?"

"Of course," Cal murmured, bring Luke closer and holding him against his chest, now, one hand sliding down under his butt. Luke had calmed down, and was only sniffling.

I wanted him back. He was still unhappy, and there was a stranger holding him, who didn't know how to comfort him, who had spent the last two months drunk off his ass, and I was sitting here across the table…

I clenched my fists and forced myself to keep quiet. This was stupid.

"Here you go," the waiter/waitress said, setting a wooden high chair down in front of the table with a bang. I caught sight of a name badge, which read 'Sam'. A fat load of help. "We ready to order?"

I didn't have any money.

I looked at Cal.

"Order what you want," he said.

I shook my head. "No, really, it's—"

"I mean it," Cal interrupted.

Well, fine.

"I'll have a bacon double cheese burger, fries, and a strawberry milkshake."

"Just a cup of coffee for me," Cal said, when Sam looked at him.

"You sure?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. "How about a little toast to go with that?"

Cal shook his head. "No thanks."

When Sam left, Cal was still holding Luke. On one hand, he had cheered up considerably, which made me happy, but on the other hand, time had passed and Cal still had him. How long did he need to hold him, anyway? Why couldn't Luke be as clingy as he's been on Sunday night?

"Can you put him in the high chair, so he can have dinner?" I asked.

A perfectly reasonable request. I was a little uneasy at the idea of Cal putting Luke into the high chair, but I told myself that I was being ridiculous (again). It wasn't like Cal was going to  _drop_ him.

But I still watched Cal like a hawk as he carefully slid Luke into the high chair, and didn't relax until his hands were fully off of Luke and back under the table.

"He got so big," Cal said fondly, smiling at Luke.

"He said his first word, last week," I informed him.

Cal grinned at me. "No kidding? What was it?"

"Dada."

Grinning, Cal turned to Luke. "Good job, kiddo!"

Luke beamed, though this might have had something to do with the diaper bag that I had started sifting through. He clapped his hand and made 'gimmie' motions when I came up with a baggie of apple puffs. I laid a few out on a napkin for him.

With obvious effort, Cal tore his eyes away from Luke and focused on me. "So you're, uh, not at home anymore?"

I shook my head.

Cal didn't know about the gay thing, and at this point, it wasn't any of his business. Also, I definitely didn't want to get into the whole story of Liberty Avenue and Brian and how I'd left Luke alone so many times during those last few weeks when I was living at home.

"When did that happen?" Cal asked.

"Week and a half ago," I answered.

God, that sounded like such a short time. Why did it feel like a lifetime ago?

Cal was watching me, and I avoided his gaze by turning to give Luke more apple puffs.

"Well, are you gonna tell me what happened?" he finally asked, sounding a bit irritable.

"No," I said curtly. "I'm not."

"You're not going to tell me the reason you took my grandson from a stable home to go bum off some other dumb—"

"I'm leaving," I interrupted, reaching for the diaper bag and zipping it shut.

"No!" Cal protested, grabbing my arm.

"Let go," I said through clenched teeth.

Cal let go.

"Please," he begged, suddenly the picture of remorse. "Please, don't leave. Don't be mad. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that, not when I…"

Grudgingly, I let the bag go. But there was no way I was letting him steer the conversation any longer.

"Why did you leave?" I asked.

Cal flinched, eyes lowering to the table.

"Why?" I demanded.

"I couldn't stay," Cal said, shaking his head and not looking up. "Sara was… I just had to leave. It's different, for you. You've only known Luke for ten months—you haven't raised him for sixteen years. It's so different."

"You think I love him less than you loved your daughter?" I couldn't hide the anger in my voice, the disbelief. I'd almost given up  _everything_  for Luke. Everything. And he'd run away like a fucking coward!

But Cal shook his head. "You don't understand. You don't... You don't know."

"I know that I wouldn't run away to go—go waste away in a bar somewhere! I'd stay and help the people who were depending on me!"

Luke stopped mid-chew, face crumpling, and I quickly calmed myself and reached out to stroke his hair while keeping my eyes fixed on Cal.

"Justin, what I did…"

"You ran out on your grandson, when he needed you most," I said, keeping my voice calm so that my drama queen of a son wouldn't start to cry again. "You left. You ran away like a goddamn coward."

"I'm not staying," Cal said suddenly, looking up at me again. "I can't stay. But Luke—you and Luke, how are you gonna be?"

"We'll be fine," I answered automatically.

"You should go to college. Are you going to college next year?" Cal asked.

"I don't know how that's any of your business."

"Is it… Is it the money?"

"It's always the money," I snapped, losing my temper for a moment. I forcibly reined it in, keeping the rest of my words even. "It's the money that I'm costing people to live where I do—the money I need to take care of Luke, the money I'd need to pay for daycare and the money I'd need to pay for tuition, because my father sure as hell isn't going to pay for it anymore. Money that no one's just going to hand over to me."

Cal looked at me for a long moment, and then nodded slowly. He seemed resigned, heavy. "You're right. Of course."

"So, this is, what? A goodbye?" I asked.

Slowly, Cal nodded. "Guess so."

"You'd better mean it," I said tightly. "Luke doesn't need you coming in and out of his life—he needs stability and consistency right now."

"I'm selling the house," Cal said.

I blinked. "What?"

"Grab anything you want."

"Uh. Yeah," I said slowly, still struggling to comprehend. Of course he was selling the house. It wasn't like he was living here anymore—had I expected him to just let it go on as it was, abandoned and rotting?

I let Cal feed Luke the rest of his dinner and ate my burger in silence. Not much more was said. A strange combination of dread and anger was twisting up my stomach, and I couldn't wait to get out of there and leave Cal—this broken, wasted man who was promising to stay away for the rest of his life but would probably come around again when he'd had a little too much to drink, hurting Luke as he got older and understood who he was but not why he couldn't stay.

Half of my shake still untouched, I made excuses about homework and Luke needing a diaper change soon, and started bundling him up to go outside.

"Thanks for dinner," I said as I pulled on Luke's hat.

Cal hesitated. "Can I… Can I hug him? Just one last time?"

"Let me get this on," I said after a moment, referring to the sweater that I was forcing Luke into. He wasn't being disagreeable—just completely distracted with trying to get to the remaining food on my plate.

Cal took Luke gently, not dangling him this time. Luke went without a fuss, though he started squirming when Cal hugged him for a moment too long. I wanted to dismiss it as him just being a drama queen as usual, but truthfully, I was uncomfortable with the whole thing, too, and I snatched him back as soon as Cal was finished.

Without another word, I got the second sweater on and then wrapped him tightly in the thick blanket I'd brought. But as my eyes swept the table, doing a final check for things that might have escaped the diaper bag, I caught sight of who was sitting a few tables down.

Brian. What?

He, of course, cocked an eyebrow and stared right back, looking not at all fazed to see me. How long had he been there?

Then he raised a hand and slowly crooked a finger—a come-hither motion.

Fucker.

I turned back to Cal, who had slumped back into the booth and was staring blankly at the counter like he'd been doing when I'd first come in. I sighed, zipped up my coat, slung the diaper bag over my shoulder, and then finally picked up Luke.

"I…"

I couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"Good bye," I finally said.

Cal didn't answer. He'd seemed to have crawled back into himself, the stupid coward.

Scowling, I hitched the diaper bag higher on my shoulder and turned, making my way over to where Brian was sitting.

"What?" I snapped, and then I winced. "Uh. Sorry. What's up?"

Brian leaned back, amused. "Do you remember your little performance in your school's parking lot, last month?"

The hand job.

My mouth fell open. "Brian, did it escape your attention that there's a baby in my arms?"

"Is that what that is?" Brian eyed an admittedly barely-visible Luke. "I thought it was a twitching roll of blankets."

"I'm not giving you a handjob right now," I said, irritated. "And if that's all you wanted—"

"Christ, can you stop being a twat for, like, two seconds and listen to me?"

Sullenly, I glared.

"Do you remember the reason  _why_  I was at that hideously over-priced high school of yours?" Brian asked.

"You wanted to tell me to get my ass back on Liberty Avenue," I said. And then, thinking it might appease him a little, added, "Because Emmett and Debbie were worried."

"I'm telling you that again," Brian said.

I decided to be deliberately obtuse. "That Emmett and Debbie are worried?"

Brian was  _so_  not impressed. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Homework. Dishes. Giving Luke a bath," I said with a shrug. I flashed him a winning smile. "Why, are you asking me out?"

"I thought you were already out. Isn't that the reason you're in this whole mess?"

"Ha ha. It's so funny I forgot to laugh."

"Be at Babylon tomorrow night," Brian ordered me, and then he picked up the menu as if that settled everything.

I frowned. "I can't."

Brian looked up, eyebrow raised. "Why not? You can't have that much homework, you're too smart."

"I can't," I repeated. "I'm not… I don't think I'll be going out for a while."

On my hip, Luke was starting to fuss about the blanket. I knew that it was restricting his movement, but until I got up the money to buy him one of those snowsuit things, this was as good as it was going to get. Anyway, I wouldn't be much longer.

Brian was studying me when I looked back up, but he didn't remain pensive for long. A second later he shrugged and picked up the menu again. "Suit yourself."

Great. Well, there went that.

As I left, Cal was still staring at the table. Brian was staring at the menu. And outside, Pittsburgh was getting its first real snowfall.

 

The three hundred dollars I found stuffed into Luke's sweater put me in a bad mood for the rest of the night.

 

Cal had already skipped town by the time school let out the next day. I didn't hang around the house to pile up on stuff that I wanted—I stayed only long enough to determine that he'd gone, and then left for Deb's. I wasn't even sure that I was going to take anything at all. I supposed that I should grab photos, for Luke. But that could wait for another day.

I didn't make much of an effort to hide my rather morose mood at dinner, and Vic asked me about it as we were clearing the table.

"It's nothing," I mumbled, stacking the plates to take to the sink.

"Justin, you haven't smiled once all night. If you keep this up, Sis is gonna have to change your nickname to Overcast."

I snorted, a weak smile coming to my face.

"Don't worry about it," I said, shaking my head a little. "It's just stupid teenage stuff. I'll get over it."

"All right. But just so you know, I make a mean cup of hot chocolate, and my soundboard impression is impeccable."

"I'll keep that in mind. Did someone just knock?"

"Let me check," Vic said, dropping the dish towel he'd been using to wipe off the table.

I turned my attention to Luke.

"You're a mess," I informed him, lifting him out of his high chair. Tonight had been some chicken-pea mash with rice, and Luke's hands and face were all sticky. I turned on the faucet and ran a rag under the water, waiting for it to warm a little. "And tonight's your bath night, isn't it? I'll bet you were hoping I would forget. Too bad for you, little dude."

Luke protested as I cleaned him off, but I was quick about it. I pulled the bib off from around his neck and was about to set him down when Vic suddenly yelled.

"Justin! Door for you."

Puzzled, I stepped out of the kitchen and saw—

"Brian?"

He grinned. "I heard you needed help with your chemistry homework."

The burst of joy that I felt at seeing him (oh my God, he's here, he actually went out of his way to come and see  _me_ ) was quickly replaced by wariness and confusion.

"Shouldn't you be out?" I asked. "You know, drinking, fucking, doing d—"

"Not in front of the child, Justin," Brian said with a smile gone predatory. He slid his coat off and threw it over the couch. "Now show me this chemistry problem. You were having trouble with dipole seconds?"

"Uh," I said intelligently.

For the record, I wasn't in chemistry. But I had a pretty good idea of what Brian wanted me to show him upstairs.

I looked down at Luke, who was squirming every which way in an attempt to be put down.

"I'll watch him," Vic offered, looking between Brian and I. He grinned. "You two go work on your chemistry."

I shook my head. "No, I couldn't—"

"Oh yes, you can." Brian glanced up the stairs meaningfully. "Let's go. I've got other places to be tonight."

I opened my mouth to protest again, but saw Vic's eyebrow go up, and thought better of it. It wasn't that I didn't want Brian to fuck me, or let me suck him, or whatever it was that he had planned—it was just that the idea of leaving Luke alone… Leaving for school this morning had been hard enough.

But I trusted Vic. I did.

"All right," I agreed, letting Luke down on the ground. "You can help me with my chemistry homework."

Brian followed me up the stairs.

"Although, I don't know how much they knew about chemistry, back in the Stone Age," I went on as we climbed. "Did they even have paper back then? Or were you still chiseling things out on—ow!"

Brian slapped my ass again, for a good measure.

I reached the top of the steps, spun around and smirked. "Or was it the printing press that they'd just invented?"

"Here I am, being nice, coming to rescue you from a life of servitude to your little parasite—"

I elbowed him.

"Also," I added, as he shoved me back and then plowed ahead to the bedroom, "you know that it's called a dipole moment, not a dipole second, don't you? It's not actually a measurement of time, it's a measurement of polarity in a chemical bond."

"The idea of being grateful really just escapes you, doesn't it?"

I grinned, shoved the last of my worries about Luke out of my head, and let him push me down on the bed.

 

Surprisingly, Brian didn't rush out as soon as he'd gotten the condom in the trashcan. He went for a cigarette, but I yelled at him that he would give Luke cancer by secondhand smoke, and so with an eye roll and a disgruntled look, he set the pack of cigarettes back. It was silent for several minutes before—

"Do you wanna know why I don't go out anymore?" I blurted out.

"Chemistry homework," Brian deadpanned.

"You asked yesterday. You're the only one who's asked. I want to answer."

Brian sighed, closing his eyes. "Whatever."

I stared down at my hands for a moment, and then pushed myself up and off the bed to get a pair of underwear.

"It's just that—being irresponsible and going out to Liberty Avenue all the time was what I did wrong last time. I almost lost Luke. And I learned my lesson, I don't want to leave him alone at night, especially now that…" I paused. "You remember the guy I was with last night, at the diner?"

Brian didn't so much as twitch.

"That was Sara's father—Luke's grandpa. The one that skipped town. But he came back to see Luke and he…"

"Fucker wants custody?" Brian asked, cracking open an eye.

I shook my head. "No. He just wanted to see him. He said that he wasn't ever coming back, but I know he will. He'll get drunk and he'll turn up again, begging to see Luke, and I don't want to… I mean, he has a right to see his grandchild, but—"

"No, he fucking well doesn't," Brian snapped, his eyes opening in irritation. He lifted his head, scowling. "Family doesn't mean shit. You of all people should know that—or did you forget that your dad kicked you out?"

I glared. "I ran away. And it's not like Cal hurt Luke. He loves him."

"Look, it's your kid. You've got to do what's best for him, and you're not going to do it by trying to appease everyone. Do what you think is right and fuck the rest of it."

The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

"I'm not like you, Brian."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "What, ballsy? Confident? Stubborn?"

I paused for a moment, surprised. I'd always thought of Brian and I as opposites attracting. But when he put it like that...

But that wasn't the point.

"You do this thing, where you can just shut it all off."

"Ah," Brian said, a slow smile coming to his face. "The art of not giving a fuck. It's the skill of a lifetime, grasshopper."

"But you  _do_  give a fuck." Of this much I was certain. "You just find some way to… stop. Shut it off. Everyone knows that you don't care what anyone thinks, you don't care about anyone else's feelings… How do you do it?"

Brian stopped for a moment, and then blew out a breath. "If we're gonna have these conversations every time after I fuck you, I'm gonna stop fucking you. Or at least stop doing it sober."

I don't know why I expected a real answer.

The important part, I reminded myself, was that Brian was fucking me, and that he planned to keep doing it. He was as good as ignoring Luke, but he wasn't angry with me, and he certainly didn't judge me for my failed attempt at striking out on my own. I think that I intrigued him, more than anything. Something about me had caught his eye, before he'd known about Luke, and even now that I had a kid and wasn't out pursuing him on Liberty Avenue every night, he was curious enough that he was coming back to  _me_.

It wasn't love. It wasn't blossoming romance. There were no visions of Brian becoming Luke's second daddy, or of the two of us buying a house in the suburbs and attending PTA meetings—but I knew that if I pushed hard enough, we could have something. Some kind of relationship. There was a spark between us that had existed from the first night, something I'd never felt with any of the other men I'd fucked (granted, there hadn't been that many of them), and I knew that Brian had felt it too. What we had was special. And if I pushed, something would come of it.

"Mikey's birthday party is this Sunday night, at the loft. I expect you to be there."

"Um." I tried to think of a way to phrase my question without sounding totally lame. "Will Gus be there?"

"It's not that kind of birthday party," Brian said dryly. "Leave the kid with Mel and Linds' babysitter, wear something hot, and come ready to fuck."

I goggled. "You're throwing Michael an  _orgy_  for his birthday?"

"If I was, I wouldn't be telling you to come."

"What, I'm not hot enough?" I asked playfully.

I knew I was hot enough for one of Brian's orgies. I'd never been in one, or even seen one, but it was just something that I knew—if there was an orgy, Brian would want me involved, if only under the pretense of education.

"Let me put it like this," Brian said, eyeing me with a look that told me he knew what I was thinking. "Would  _you_  want to be in an orgy with Mikey?"

"Ew," I said immediately, wrinkling my nose.

"Exactly. Also, Debbie's going to be there, and there's no way Michael would get naked in front of his mother."

I wrinkled my nose even more at the thought of me being naked in front of Debbie—and Michael being naked in the first place.

Brian smirked.

"But… I don't know if I can come," I said slowly, shaking my head. "I mean, I don't have any money to pay the babysitter, and I… I just told you I don't feel comfortable leaving Luke alone."

"Christ. I'll pay for your half of the babysitter, if it's that much of a problem."

"No, I don't want—"

"You can stay after the party and clean up, if you're going to insist that you earn it."

"Don't you have a cleaning service?"

"Only on Tuesdays."

I bit my lip. "I still don't feel comfortable leaving Luke. I  _know_  it's irratio—"

"Look," Brian interrupted, propping himself up on his knees. "Debbie took you and your kid in, out of the goodness of her heart, and you're going to miss her son's birthday party? You don't think that she'd want you to be there?"

Ouch.

"That's not fair," I muttered, but I was feeling the twist of guilt anyway. "You can't manipulate me just because I care about other people."

"Well, until you learn how to, as you said, 'shut it all off', you're going to be," Brian said, sounding rather smug.

I glared. "Fine," I huffed. "I'll go."

Brian grinned and, apparently satisfied with that, changed the subject. "So where'd the nipple ring go? Finally realize that it made you look like a hooker?"

I grinned sheepishly. "Luke discovered it and liked pulling on it a little too much. It's probably closed up by now, but I guess it's better than having my whole nipple ripped off."

"I thought you were into pain?"

I fought down a rise of irritation. This again?

"Just whips and bondage. No mutilation," I said blithely, to cover my annoyance.

Brian's lips curled upward slightly.

I unlocked the door, sticking my head out slightly, and heard Luke's laughter from downstairs. Having determined that he was fine, I shut the door and relocked it, and then finally went back to where Brian was still sprawled out on the bed.

"You should come over more often," I said, dropping down on the bed next to him.

And then before he could get out some snarky reply, I leaned up and kissed him. Hard. Brian instantly responded, his hands coming up to my shoulders as he tongue pushed into my mouth. I regretted putting underwear on as I felt him getting hard against my thigh, and I worked to pull them down with one hand without breaking the kiss. Brian wasn't the only one getting hard. I was seventeen and between school and Luke, I didn't exactly have the opportunity to lock myself in the bathroom for a few hours on Saturday afternoons.

He raised his hips, grinding into the soft skin of my inner thigh, and whatever half-heartedness there might have been about my erection before vanished, leaving me painfully hard.

"Uhf," I gasped, as Brian pulled away, his tongue running along my bottom lip for a moment. I kissed the side of his mouth and then began trailing kisses down his neck, planning on descending all the way down to his cock, where intended to suck it with abandon. My ass may have been my best feature, but my cocksucking was, without question, my best skill. And I liked it, too. I didn't see it as servicing Brian—I saw it as taking control, me controlling his gasps, his jolts, his heart rate, his every moment of pleasure.

I'd seen Brian talking on the phone during blowjobs in the backroom of Babylon.

Brian forming coherent words when it was  _my_  mouth around his cock? Not even in the same zip code as possible.

So I guess it was lucky that Brian's phone went off just as my lips were puckered on the head of his cock.

"Mother _fucker_ ," Brian spat, pushing himself up.

"Ignore it," I said hopefully, but he was already sliding out from under me and rolling off the bed.

Annoyed, I sat Indian-style and crossed my arms over my chest, glaring and not caring that I looked like a petulant five-year-old.

Brian pulled his phone out of his jeans, which had somehow landed over Luke's crib in the frenzy of getting undressed. "Kinney," he snapped.

There was a beat of suspended silence, in which I was still irritated with him, and then suddenly his posture stiffened and I knew that whoever was on the phone with him, they had good reason to be.

"Lindsay, shut up, you're rambling. You're taking him to the hospital?"

Oh, no.

Gus.

"Which one?"

Brian had started dressing one-handedly as he spoke.

I bit my lip, a thousand terrible things running through my head. Gus was still young enough for SIDS, still young enough for allergic reactions and congenital defects that hadn't yet been detected and auto immune disorders and more than the two soft spots at the posterior and anterior fontanel—what had happened?

"I'm on my way," Brian said, and then he hung up.

"What happened?" I asked immediately, rising up off the bed. "Is it Gus? Is he okay?"

"He's sick. He's got a fever and he's throwing up," Brian said shortly, while pulling his shirt over his head. "I'm sure Lindsay's just overreacting, but she wants me to turn up. Doesn't even ask if she's ruining my night..."

Yeah, right. I was totally gonna buy that.

He wasn't even bothering to keep the worry out of his tone.

"Call me and let me know that he's all right, okay?" I asked.

Brian stuffed his feet into his shoes as he put on his jacket. "Yeah, whatever. See you."

I bit my lip as he practically flew out of the room, and hoped that everything would be okay. Luke, thank god, had survived his ten months with only the appearance of a rash on his arm, which the pediatrician had dryly diagnosed as "A rash. The kind every kid gets. Stop worrying." Hopefully, Gus just had the flu. And hopefully, his little immune system would be able to fight it off.

 

By the following morning, Brian had not called with news on Gus. I left him an irritated voicemail before leaving for school, which he had not returned by the time I got home. I stuffed down my irritation, played pat-a-cake with Luke for a while, and when five o'clock rolled around I called Lindsay and Melanie.

"Oh, Gus is fine, honey," Melanie quickly assured me. "He just has a little ear infection, that's all. He's almost all better. How'd you hear that he was sick, anyway?"

"Oh, you know," I said vaguely. "The grapevine."

"Meaning Brian."

"Um."

"Mm. Justin, a word of advice—I know that you think Brian's some kind of gay mecca in human form, and no one's denying he's hot, but he's not the kind of guy you really want around your kid."

"You chose him to be the father of your kid," I shot back, suddenly prickly, both at the fact that Melanie thought I was a total retard, and also at the fact that, yet again, Brian was being verbally slaughtered. I was beginning to think that his huge ego was more of a defense mechanism than anything.

Of course, it worked on a positive feedback loop, but that begged the question of which had come first—the ego, or the verbal assault?

"Brian's a sperm donor, not the father," Melanie said shortly. "Or he will be soon, anyway."

"I just wanted to make sure that you still wanted me to babysit on Friday night," I said, changing the subject before I started arguing and lost myself my Friday-night gig.

"Of course! Gus isn't contagious, and he should be back to normal by then. We'll see you at five?"

"Yeah, I'll be there."

"Awesome. See you then, kiddo."

"See you."

I hung up and turned my attention to Luke, who was babbling while simultaneously stuffing the leg of his hippo into his mouth. I'd have to do the bundling routine tomorrow night before I took him out—there were only a few inches of snow on the ground, but it was mighty cold outside and I still didn't have the money to buy him snow clothes…

My thoughts slowed as it dawned on me that I  _did_  have the money.

I didn't want to use it. Everything in me screamed against using it. But I couldn't deny the fact that Luke had no real winter clothing, and as we'd already established, loving your kid apparently also meant forsaking your pride. So I closed my eyes, inhaled, and reached for the phone to call Daphne, who'd always loved shopping for baby clothes a little too much.

 

A week later, Cal killed himself.


	12. Velocity

**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 12: Velocity**

Before I learned about Cal's suicide, I had actually begun to think that things might settle down. Not that everything did settle down—Brian and I got into a fight on Friday night when I found out that Lindsay and Melanie were making him give up his parental rights to Gus, then Brian blew up his friendship with Michael at his birthday party, which led to another fight between us after the party... My mom called twice more. Dad refused to admit that I was still alive. Chris Hobbs pushed me down the stairs.

My life was no bowl of cherries. But I had started to feel comfortable, like things were starting to make sense for the first time since Sara had died back in September.

Brian had been spending a lot of time with me, now that he'd pushed Michael away. He'd even taken steps towards acknowledging Luke (he bought a baby monitor set, handed one end to Vic and the other to me, and then dragged me upstairs and fucked the shit out of me for two hours). But while I loved having him over all the time, I knew that he was really only missing Michael. He needed Michael, and fucking me every other night of the week was a poor substitute. And so I had been busily plotting reunion schemes when I wasn't at school, taking care of Luke, or having mind-blowing sex with Brian.

My plan was ready to be enacted on Thursday night. But not long after I got home from school on Wednesday, there was a knock on the door that threw my plan—and any hopes that I'd had for things finally settling down—right out the window.

Debbie and Vic were in the kitchen whipping up dinner, and having one person encroaching on her territory was already too much for Debbie, so Luke and I were on the couch with my sketchpad when the knock came. So I put down my drawing of Luke, which was a bare outline at this point, deposited him on the floor, and went to answer the door.

A tall, burly man in a heavy-duty winter coat stood on the stoop-the kind you see men wearing when they're working in a lumber yard. Upon my opening the door, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled what I at first thought was a wallet.

"Hi there. I'm Detective Wallace, with the Pittsburgh Police. I'm looking for Justin Taylor?"

My mind blanked, and my chest felt suddenly heavy.

"That's me," I managed, my heart surging. I tried to keep my blind panic at bay.

"Father of Luke Taylor?" Detective Wallace asked.

Oh, God.

"Y—yes."

He looked grim. "Can I come inside for a moment?"

And that was how I learned that Cal was dead.

 

Later that night, Debbie knocked at my bedroom door. "Sunshine?"

I looked up from my drawing, holding in a sigh. The last thing I wanted right now was to talk to someone. I'd been content enough to lose myself in my sketching and the sounds of Luke's babbling on the floor for the last few hours. But I knew that Debbie was worried about me and that keeping her out would only make things worse, so I told her to come in.

She gave me a smile as she opened the door. She was bearing a platter of Fig Newtons, and had a steaming mug of something in her other hand. "Hey, kiddo. How are you?"

I shrugged. "How should I be?"

"I brought cookies and hot chocolate," Debbie announced, as she set her offering on the desk. "Always made Mikey feel better."

"Thanks," I said. I wasn't hungry, but I reached for a Fig Newton anyway.

After a moment, Debbie turned her attention to Luke. "And hello to you, baby! Yes, hello to  _you!_ "

I rolled my eyes.

"Can you say Debbie?" Debbie cooed, her voice nine octaves above its normal range. "Deb-bie?"

Luke answered her with a string of syllables that did not, in the least, resemble 'Debbie'.

"Smart little fucker," Debbie said anyway, in a fond sort of voice.

I nodded absently, reaching for another Fig Newton, and didn't realize that Debbie's attention had been transferred back to me until I suddenly felt her hand in my hair.

"Do you want me to watch him for a while?" Debbie asked.

"No," I answered, shaking my head. I turned my gaze up to her. "I'm fine. I wasn't even close to him. Cal, I mean."

"Are you sure?" Debbie pressed. "Don't give me any of that 'be strong for the kid' bullshit. Anyone killing themselves is fuckin' terrible, and you've got a right to be upset about it."

"I'm drawing," I said.

"You want me to call your mom?" Debbie tried.

My eyes widened and I sat up straight in my chair. "Definitely not!"

Debbie did not look convinced.

"Look, really, I'm fine," I promised. "Or I will be fine. I've just been thinking about a lot of things."

And Debbie protested a bit more, but eventually I got her out of the room with the understanding that I was all right, and that yes, I would be going to school tomorrow.

Even though Cal was dead.

Truthfully, I was more angry than I was upset that he was dead. By killing himself, Cal had effectively taken away the rest of Luke's mother's family, as well as the only other person in this world who loved him. My son was alone, save for me. And it only made me angrier that I had no one to turn to with that anger. With anything. I was truly, completely alone in the world.

I didn't have anyone. Not Brian, not Debbie—nice as she was—and most importantly, I didn't have my parents.

The loss of my parents had never hit me this hard before. Mom had always been there for me, if only when my father wasn't looking, whenever things had gone wrong. Years ago, she would have said all the right words, done all the right things, and let me take out all me feelings on her… But now I couldn't do that. Now I  _wouldn't_  do that. The bond between my mother and I had been fraying over the last few years, and my running away had finally snapped it in two.

There was no one in the world supporting me right now, and there was no one in the world who was going to catch me if I fell.

So what choice did I have but to move forward?

 

"We're eating in the computer lab today," I announced as Daphne and I met up the following day, just before lunch.

She wrinkled her nose. "Why?"

"Because I need a plan, and my plan-making involves the internet."

"A plan for what?" Daphne asked.

"By the way," I added, not answering her question and starting to walk towards the computer lab, "Cal shot himself on Monday."

"Whaaaaaat?"

 

It took me a while to calm her down and blow off most of her questions, but eventually, Daphne settled down and started to help.

"Okay, so that's eight colleges in Pittsburgh that could reasonably award you a full merit scholarship—nine, if you count Carnegie Mellon," Daphne reported, looking up from the list she'd been keeping.

"Which I don't," I said immediately, shaking my head. "I could get in, but there's no way I'd get a scholarship. Not unless I score a 1600, and even then…"

"SATs next weekend," Daphne reminded me in a sing-song voice.

I held in a groan. "Right. Anyway, so eight schools—that's gonna be $280 to apply, but I won't have to have that until January, really. And I've got to fill out FAFSA, which probably means that I've got to speak to my parents about their income…"

"Just have your mom do it," Daphne said easily.

"Maybe."

She rolled her eyes. "What is your problem with her, anyway? I get why you're mad at your father, but your mom didn't do anything."

"That's about the sum of it," I said with a snort.

Daphne looked confused.

I shrugged, and explained it casually. "She didn't do anything. Never stood up for me, never took my side, never fought for me—so fuck her. I don't need her."

"Justin, you didn't see her when you were missing for those two days, when she came over our house—"

"What, she was worried that I was dead?" I asked. "That doesn't make her a good mom. There's more to parenting than not wanting your kid dead. Believe me, I would know."

"So, what, you're disowning your family?"

"I'm pretty sure that they disowned me first."

Daphne bit her lip, thinking.

"Look," I said, before she could come up with some ridiculous, over-the-top psychobabble to spout at me. "I'm just done with them. I'm starting a new life, and they're not a part of it. I don't need them to be a part of it. What I need is to figure out how many application essays I'm going to be writing over Christmas break."

"All right, all right," Daphne muttered at last, giving me a slightly dirty look.

"You take the last four," I instructed as I turned around to face my computer, ready to type in the web address of the first school on my list.

Daphne was quiet for several moments, and then eventually said, "You know that Slippery Rock has six essays, this year? Six!"

I smiled.

 

Apparently, the universe had heard my conversation with Daphne and decided that it was utter bullshit, because who was sitting in Debbie's living room, sipping a cup of coffee and talking quietly with Vic when I got home from school?

"Mom," I said warily, dropping my backpack.

Mom smiled at me. "Well, it's nice to see that you remember who I am."

I glanced at Vic, and then returned my gaze to her. "What are you doing here?"

Mom looked at Vic. "Could you give us a moment, please?"

Oh, yes. Heaven forbid we express emotion in front of other people.

I thought about telling Vic to stay, but he didn't seem offended at all and, anyway, it was probably faster to let Mom have her way for now. The sooner we got this conversation over with, the sooner she would leave, and the less chance there was of Brian coming over while my mother was still here. He'd mentioned that he'd be over tonight when he'd been here on Tuesday, and I had plans. Dirty plans. And the hell if my mother was going to mess those up.

"Hey, dude," I said, plucking Luke up off the ground and settling him in my lap as I sat down across from Mom. "How was your day?"

"Da! Dada!" Luke squealed excitedly, sloppily grabbing onto the front of my shirt. The rest of the syllables that came out of his mouth were just baby babble, but I pretended to listen attentively anyway for a few moments.

"I didn't know he was talking," Mom said from across the living room, sounding quietly pleased.

I looked up, unable to help the proud grin on my face. "Yeah. A few weeks ago."

Mom smiled back. "Good for him."

I inhaled, sitting up straight. "Yeah. So, now that you've kicked Vic out, are you going to tell me what you're doing here?"

"Justin…" Mom looked pained. She made to take another sip of her coffee, paused, and then changed her mind and lowered it. "Honey. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

I almost let my face crumple. Almost. What could have possibly happened  _now?_  What else could life throw at me?

But I remembered that I was done with that shit—I was done getting upset, and I was done being sad. Whatever had happened, had happened, and I would deal with it like the strong little fucker that I was.

"What?" I asked.

In my lap, Luke had started to squirm, wanting to be put down, but I didn't want to let go of him just yet.

Mom bit her lip. "It's Cal Anderson, sweetie. He… he's dead."

I blinked.

Then I laughed out loud. Harsh and short, like a bark.

Mom looked startled.

"I knew that," I said, unable to help the bit of spite in my tone. I wasn't sure where the anger was coming from, but it was there.

"You knew?" Mom repeated, surprised. "But how—"

"The Pittsburgh Police Department dropped by yesterday afternoon. Luke was the only connection they could find to Cal, apparently, and they stopped by to let me know. And he didn't just  _die_. He shot himself in the head."

Mom's hand had come up to cover her mouth, somewhere in the middle of my speech. "Oh, honey, and you went to school today? Why didn't you call and tell me? I would have called you off."

"I didn't need you to call me off."

"Justin…"

"I'm fine," I insisted, rather flatly.

Luke was vigorously attempting to get free by now, having had enough of me, and I finally let him go free onto the ground.

"Was that all you came over here for?" I asked, as Luke took off in pursuit of his stuffed hippo.

Mom struggled for a moment, clearly thrown by my words, but she at last picked up her coffee cup and settled back into the couch. "Well, I haven't seen you in weeks, and you've been avoiding me on the phone—don't think I haven't noticed. I miss you."

"Oddly enough, I haven't missed you at all," I said acidly.

"Justin!"

"Does Dad know that you're here?"

"Well, I don't see why he would need to."

"No. You wouldn't."

"Justin, this is far from the time for your smart mouth," Mom said sternly, fixing me with a stern look. "I'd hoped that, given the events of these last few months, you'd have grown out of this. If you want to be any kind of father to Luke, you're going to have to start acting like an adult."

"That's bullshit, Mom."

She flinched at the language, but recovered and glared. "I hardly—"

"It's bullshit!" I yelled.

Luke froze, eyes fixed on me.

Dammit.

"It's bullshit," I said again in a calmer voice, hoping that Luke would go back to his hippo and remain unaware of the emotional atmosphere. He was too sensitive for his own good. "If  _you_  were any kind of adult, you wouldn't be sneaking around behind Dad's back to support me. I bet he doesn't even know that you're paying Debbie to take care of Luke and I. What'd you tell him the money was for? Some country club fundraiser for Ghana?"

"And what would you have me do, Justin?" Mom asked, sounding irritated for the first time. "There are other people in this family besides you, and there are other things I have to consider."

"Right." I snorted.

On the ground, Luke was chewing on the leg of his hippo again but his eyes were still fixed on me. He looked nervous, but he wasn't about to burst into tears.

Mom sighed, and then she stared at me sadly for a moment, as though I'd somehow failed her. "I love you. You're my son."

"When Dad isn't looking," I muttered.

Mom pursed her lips, but didn't say anything.

I turned my eyes to Luke. He was dressed in a blue striped romper today, although this morning I'd dressed him in a little shirt and overalls, so clearly there had been some mishap during a meal that had resulted in a clothing change. Luke was growing into a new size of clothing, and I'd been worried about needing to buy him new clothes until last week, when I'd used the three hundred dollars that Cal had slipped me. He'd at least been good for something, before he'd killed himself.

But whatever. He was dead now, the cowardly bastard, and I was moving forward.

"You can go, now," I told Mom, looking up at her.

Her face twisted a little. "I just want—"

"Really," I interrupted. "You can go."

Don't let the door hit you on the way out.

She sat there for a moment longer, and then closed her eyes and sighed.

And I guess a part of me was hurt that she didn't put up more of a fight, but mostly I was just relieved when she nodded quietly, put her coffee cup in the sink, and didn't even try to hug me goodbye. Fuck her. I hoped she never came back.

"You've got no grandparents now, little dude," I told Luke as I slid to the floor to join him.

Luke grinned and held out his hippo.

"Thank you," I said, accepting it. "And you slobbered all over it, just for me!"

"Dadadadadadadada," Luke replied, while using the leg of the coffee table to pull himself up into a standing position. He stood there for a moment, rocking a little as he hands gripped the table, and then he let go and wobbled for a moment, standing free, before falling on his butt and exploding into giggles.

Little weirdo.

 

Brian did not show up that night. Or the next night. Michael did, though.

"Ma! I brought—oh." Michael stopped upon seeing me in the living room with Luke. "Where's Ma? Ma!"

"I'm in the bathroom, you little asshole!" Debbie's voice yelled from upstairs. "Quit shouting!"

I smirked at my SAT workbook.

"So how's the freeloading?" Michael asked snidely, turning to me.

"Oh, it's going well," I replied, my own tone acidic. "I'm thinking of dropping out of school and starting a meth lab in the downstairs bathroom."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Michael muttered, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall. He was glaring, but he looked as about intimidating as I did when I attempted my own death glares—which is to say, about as intimidating as a sulking puppy.

My plan to get Brian and Michael back together sprang up in my mind, but in a moment of vindictive selfishness, I shoved it away. Michael was an asshole, and Brian hadn't even been by to fuck me since Tuesday night. Both of them could be miserable and alone, for all I cared.

"Are you staying?" I asked instead.

Michael uncrossed his arms and strode over to the back of the couch, leaning over it to glare at me  _even closer_.

Ooo. I was so scared.

"Listen, you little brat," Michael said tensely. "You may think that Ma letting you live here gives you privileges to act like a member of this family, but it doesn't. You're not a part of this family. You're not a part of  _any_  family. She's just too nice to turn you out onto the streets, and you know, you could act like you're grateful for a change."

I knew that I couldn't hang around and listen to this for another twenty minutes, or two hours, or however he planned on being here. I had to leave.

"I am grateful towards your mother," I said, closing my SAT workbook and standing up. "She's been nothing but generous and kind to me. But what the hell do I have to be grateful to  _you_  for? You've acted like an asshole since the first day we met. Your mother's kindness doesn't entitle you to self-righteousness, Michael."

"You should be grateful that I'm letting you stay in my room! That's my space that you're living in, and if I hadn't said it was okay you wouldn't be here right now."

"Oh, I doubt that," I said under my breath as I grabbed Luke's little snowsuit, and then grabbed Luke, and plunked them both on the couch.

Luke, of course, was starting to get upset with the tense atmosphere, and my shoving various limbs into his snowsuit wasn't going to improve his mood at all.

"And where are you going?" Michael demanded.

"I have an errand to run," I said shortly.

Luke was fussing as I maneuvered another arm into its proper sleeve.

"Michael, what are you doing here?" Debbie asked as she made her way down the steps, oblivious to the argument she was breaking up. "You said you were coming over on Sunday for dinner! We already ate, but there's leftovers in the fridge if you want some. You want some? It was lasagna night. Justin, honey, where are you going?"

"Out on an errand," I said, zipping up Luke. I left him on the couch while I went to go get my own jacket.

"What kind of errand?" Debbie pressed. She'd reached the bottom of the stairs, and did not sound impressed with my initial answer.

"I've got to pick some things up from a friend's house," I tried.

As I shrugged my coat on, Debbie was eying me suspiciously, but after a moment finally deemed my answer legitimate. "All right. Drive safely, okay?"

"I'll be back soon," I promised. I picked Luke up off the couch. "Wanna go for a car ride? You haven't been in your car seat in ages, have you?"

I ignored the way that Michael was glaring at me as I left the house, keeping up my one-sided conversation with Luke to distract myself.

 

This was, if I had it my way, the last time I would ever be in the Anderson home.

It was eerily quiet, and as soon as I entered I sneezed three times. I discovered that the electricity had been shut off at some point, but after shuffling around a few cupboards and drawers, I managed to find a flashlight. Luke was deposited in the playpen that was still set up in the corner of the living room, and then I dumped out a pile of old hunting gear and took the cardboard box for myself.

I guess if this were a Lifetime movie, this would be the point where I broke down crying as I peeled my sketches off of Sara's wall—but this wasn't a Lifetime movie. It wasn't emotional. I felt an odd sense of peace as I moved about her room, trying to decide what Luke might want to look at some day. There was a stack of spiral-bound notebooks that Sara used to write in all the time, which I grabbed, and three photo albums in the closet.

What else would Luke want from his mother?

I threw in some of her books, a bracelet that she'd liked, and the blanket that she'd crocheted for Luke, but in the end, had decided that it had had too many holes for him to get tangled in, or possibly strangle himself on. It was a really terrible blanket. Like, really terrible. But I put it in the box anyway.

In the living room, Luke was making fussy noises, but when I went to check on him he spotted me and started yelling my name excitedly. He was standing at the side of playpen closest to me, his hands gripping the mesh wall.

I made one more round about the house, grabbing a few last things in a fit of indecision, and then left Luke alone for a few minutes while I deposited the box in the trunk of the car.

"You ready to blow this joint?" I asked Luke as I came back inside.

"Da! Dadadada! Dada!" Luke answered, which I supposed meant 'yes'.

I wrestled him back into his snowsuit and got my shoes on, but paused when I had my hand on the doorknob. This was it. The last I would see of this house.

"Say bye-bye," I told Luke, shifting my attention away from the abandoned house and to his face, which was watching mine. I waved with my free hand. "Bye bye, house!"

"Buh," Luke said, which was probably a coincidence but I grinned happily anyway. Then he waved goodbye too, a motion that he'd picked up sometime last week, and buried his face in my chest.

I locked the door behind me and didn't look back.

 

"Daph," I said, when she answered the phone later that night. "I need a plan."

"You have a plan. Remember?"

I shook my head. "I need another one."

"For what?"

 

The following morning was Saturday, and when I strolled into the diner with Luke in his carrier, I found exactly what I thought I would find.

"Hi," I said, sliding into the booth across from Brian.

Brian, who had been staring into his coffee morosely, looked up.

I smiled brightly at him.

He stared at me for a moment, and then exhaled slowly and closed his eyes, all but groaning out load.

"You said you were coming over to fuck me on Thursday night," I reminded him.

"I said I  _might_ ," Brian corrected.

I wanted to point out that he'd been fucking me every other night for almost two weeks, but I knew that if I made it sound like a pattern, Brian would probably get pissy and stop fucking me all together. God forbid he be predictable. Instead, I started undoing Luke's straps; he had figured out where the buckles were, and when he wanted free, he would grab onto the buckles and start pushing on them.

"You look happy," Brian commented.

I lifted Luke out of his carrier and settled him onto my lap, turning to face Brian with yet another grin on my face. "I am."

Brian eyed Luke, but didn't say anything.

I shamelessly struck up a conversation.

"You know, I had a whole scheme planned out for getting you and Michael back together."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

I nodded. "Oh, yeah—it was genius. You would have been proud to be a part of it. Too bad you didn't show up on Thursday."

Brian snorted and took a sip of his coffee.

"Honey, can I get you a highchair?"

I looked up and saw Sam, the androgynous waiter, looking at me. Sam looked decidedly more male today, and I was relieved to finally have a pronoun to associate with him.

"Yeah, that'd be great."

"You want anything to eat?" Sam asked, hands going for the notepad in his apron.

I shook my head. "I'm not hungry, thanks."

He nodded and then left to get the high chair.

Brian frowned. "Are you actually not hungry, or do you just not have any money?"

"Why? Would you buy me breakfast?" I asked, flashing him my most winning smile.

"If you blew me in the bathroom afterward."

"Really?"

Brian smirked. "Really."

I smirked right back at him. "Unfortunately for you, I'm actually not hungry. I ate earlier this morning."

Brian shrugged. "Whatever."

"Highchair!" Sam announced, setting it down at the end of the table.

"Well, isn't this fucking domestic," Brian muttered as I transferred Luke into the highchair.

But he didn't make any move to put on his coat, so I called it a victory and sat back in the booth.

"You wouldn't mind if it was Gus," I pointed out.

"Yes, I fucking well  _would_."

I rolled my eyes. "He's just sitting there. He's not yelling, or throwing things, or eating his own snot. What's the problem?"

Brian gave me the most incredulous look, as if my answer had not only been high treason against his own moral code, but in fact, the moral code of every man who had ever carried the name Kinney since the Gaels first settled in Ireland. But when I only grinned back at him, he eventually gave up and took a drink from his cup.

I cast my eyes around the diner, looking for the rest of Brian's usual crowd. I wondered if Ted and Emmett had sided with Michael, and all three of them were avoiding Brian. Possibly. Probably, given that Brian was sitting here by himself on a Saturday morning.

"So," I said, while searching for a sneaky way to create an opening for my question.

But before I could come up with something, Brian spoke.

"What are you doing here?"

He sounded irritated, but I was pretty sure that he wasn't actually annoyed.

"I want you to come over and fuck me again," I said bluntly. "I'm seventeen and I'm horny, and I don't even have a dildo to tide me over."

"Oh, the poor baby," Brian said with mock-sympathy. "Not even a dildo?"

I shook my head. "Nope. I've been reduced to practicing my auto-fellatio on the bathroom floor, during Luke's naps. It's terrible."

"Auto-fellatio?" Brian sounded—dare I say it—impressed. And maybe turned on.

"I can only get a few inches in, but I'm working on it," I said with a smirk.

Brian's eyes darkened at my words, and he grinned as he leaned forward, tongue in his cheek. "Well, I'd love to help you practice."

"You wanna coach me?" I said, my voice lowering slightly. I leaned forward, bringing our faces even closer. "You wanna help me fuck my face on my own cock? See my cock disappear down my own throat, watch me swallow my own come?"

Brian swallowed, and then his eyes flickered to Luke.

I was pretty sure that if it weren't for him, Brian would have grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out of the diner right there and then, and spent the entire day at the loft fucking my brains out. As it was, he swallowed again and then slowly sat back against the booth, saying nothing.

I smiled. "Come over this weekend."

"Can't you get a babysitter and go out to Babylon?" Brian groused, picking up his coffee. He then apparently saw that it was empty, and set it down with a glare.

"Next weekend," I promised. "I take my SAT's on Saturday, and I want to go out and celebrate."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "SAT's, huh?"

"Oh, right, they probably didn't have them when you went to college. Sorry. It's an acronym for Scholastic Aptitude Test, introduced in 1901 as a standardized—ow!"

"I know what the fucking SAT is," Brian growled, fingers pinching my ear relentlessly.

"Ow! Okay, okay!"

Next to me, Luke was giggling and clapping his hands.

I shot him a dirty look as Brian finally let me go. "I'm glad you're on my side, kid."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brian almost crack a smile, and the throbbing of my ear was just about worth it.

"And  _yes_ , I'm taking the SATs," I said, turning back to Brian as I suddenly remembered what had started all this. "I'm going to college. Not fucking technical school, not some lame two-year school—college. For four years."

Brian looked surprised for approximately 0.04 seconds. Then he smirked. "Let me guess. Trust fund."

I scowled. "No."

"Grandparents."

"No."

"Aunt? Uncle?"

"No."

"Your new sugar daddy?"

"Nice of you to offer, but no. I'm getting a scholarship."

"What, are you gonna blow the financial aid department?" Brian asked. "Send in a photo of your ass for your admissions essay?"

"I have a plan," I said firmly.

"How darling."

I rolled my eyes.

To my right, Luke was starting to babble loudly, and I busied myself in the diaper bag, looking for the snack that I'd brought.

"So your grand scheme to get me to fuck you is to engage me in conversation while you take care of your kid?" Brian asked, sounding almost bemused.

I shrugged. "You could have left ages ago. Obviously, my conversations are very engaging."

"You wouldn't have followed me if I'd left?" Brian asked. He had arched an eyebrow.

"What do I look like, a crazed stalker?"

Brian smirked, which was answer enough.

"Well, I wouldn't have," I said firmly.

Having finally located the bag of apple puffs I'd packed, I grabbed a napkin and dumped them out, then shoved it in Luke's direction. He'd been watching and reached out eagerly.

"Anyway, I'm not just here because of you," I went on. "I need a job. Debbie's been bitching for a week about how the manager hasn't hired a new busboy."

"Why didn't you just ask Debbie if you could have the job?" Brian asked.

I gave him a 'duh' look. "Uh, because the manager does the hiring, not Debbie?"

"She could have asked for you—you know that'd get you the job."

"But I don't want this job just because I know Debbie," I said, shaking my head. "That isn't fair. I want to earn it on my own merit."

Brian stared. "It's a busboy position."

I lifted my chin defiantly. "And I want to have it because I'm the best candidate, not because I know the head waitress."

"Best candidate based on what?" Brian asked incredulously. "Your extensive busboy resume? Your references filled with famous busboys of the past?"

"If I put you down as a reference, would you tell them what a good candidate I'd be?"

I hoped that they wouldn't ask for more than three references. Debbie, Daphne and Brian were about it, for me.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," Brian said, leaning forward.

I leaned in, too.

"They don't actually call your references," Brian stage-whispered. "No one gives a fuck, it's a fucking busboy position."

"Oh, fuck off," I said, but I was laughing despite myself. I grabbed a sugar packet and lobbed it at him, but he managed to bat it away. "I just want to prove that I can do it on my own, okay? Without help."

Brian rolled his eyes. "The symbolism is really hitting me over the head, here. Like a frying pan."

"Da!" Luke announced.

"Done?" I asked him, seeing that the apple puffs had completely disappeared.

"Da," Luke repeated, pushing the napkin at me. "Dadadadada…"

"Do-nuh.  _Nuh_ ," I enunciated, though it was a hopeless cause.

"Duh," Luke said, now just making the 'd' sound. "Duh. Duh."

"As stimulating as this conversation is getting," Brian said dryly, "I have to get going."

I looked over and saw him shrugging on his coat, a tip already laid out for the waiter.

"Do I get a kiss goodbye?" I asked, complete with a winning smile.

"A kiss goodbye for the good little housewife?" Brian shot back mockingly.

I grabbed the lapel on his jacket and tugged him across the table, leaning across myself, and crushed our mouths together.

At least a minute later, we broke apart, gasping for breath.

"So I'll see you tonight?" I asked breathlessly.

"We'll see," was Brian's evasive response. There was a slight grin on his face, though, as he stood.

"And a goodbye kiss for Luke?" I prompted, gesturing. "Preferably on the cheek, though. He's a little young for Frenching."

Brian snorted. "I don't even kiss my own son. What makes you think I'd kiss yours?"

He'd totally kissed Gus. When no one was looking. I knew it.

But I let him get away with it.

"Because my son's cuter," I said smugly.

"Please. Have you seen Lindsay and I? Gus is, like, a model for eugenics."

"Luke," I said, turning to him. "Say 'bullshit'. Can you say 'bull-shit'?"

"Oh, yeah, teach him to swear," Brian called over his shoulder as he walked out. "He'll be a hoot in preschool."

"Who's a smart boy?" I cooed, in the same, sickeningly sweet way Debbie tended to do. I made a face at him, and started to tickle his belly. "Who's a smart little boy?"

Luke giggled, and I grinned.

Things were going my way. Everything was going to work out, and it was all going to go my way.

 

Despite myself, I was still surprised when Brian actually did show up after dinner that night. I restrained myself from flinging my arms around him and crowing happily, because I had a feeling he'd dump me on my ass, walk back out to the Jeep and never look at me again, and perhaps file a restraining order for a good measure. Also, I already had my arms full of Luke, who was still a mess from dinner. Debbie, though, had absolutely no qualms about cornering him.

"I told you to give Sunshine a break for a few days," she snapped upon Brian's entrance, leveling a finger at him.

This was news to me.

"You did?" I asked. My head immediately swiveled to Brian. "Wait, and you  _listened_  to her?"

Brian ignored me and shrugged. "He tracked me down today in the diner and demanded that I come over. Who am I to deny the grieving child?"

"Grieving?  _Child?_ " I repeated incredulously. "And I did not track you down, I happened to see you there!"

Debbie turned to me, her face softening. "Justin, honey, I know it isn't my place, but I really don't think you need to deal with this right now. You need to focus on yourself and Luke."

I gritted my teeth, shifting Luke to my other hip. "I appreciate you looking out for me, but people really need to stop assuming that I'm going to fall to pieces just because Cal killed himself. I'm fine."

Brian gestured. "Hear that? He's fine. He just needs a good fucking, is all."

"Brian Kinney, your dick is a lot of things, but emotionally healing isn't one of them," Debbie said flatly, putting her hands on her hips.

"I don't need emotional healing!" I insisted.

"Oh, the fuck you don't," Debbie snapped.

"Deb," Brian said, and there was almost a note of warning in his voice.

What the hell?

But it gave Debbie pause for a moment. She and Brian locked eyes and it was almost as if they were having a silent conversation, a silent battle of wills. But then she apparently gave up and sighed, her hands dropping.

"Oh, all right," she said resignedly. "But you've only got two hours—I've got to get to the diner at eight."

I beamed. "Thank you!"

"And I don't like it one bit," Debbie quickly added, leveling a finger at Brian. "You'd better watch it, buster. I don't like it at all."

"Thankfully, it's none of your fucking business," Brian said curtly.

"Da!" Luke exclaimed suddenly, making me realize the new problem on hand.

"Uh, give me ten minutes?" I asked Brian. "Luke's still got rice in his hair from dinner."

"I can do it," Debbie offered, holding out her hands.

I shook my head. "No, Brian can wait."

Brian gave me an incredulous look.

"I'm totally worth it," I said, flashing him a grin before sashaying off into the kitchen.

In the end, Brian waited.

 

There were sketches all over my bed, in addition to my SAT workbook and a few other textbooks.

"Christ," Brian said, as I pushed it all off the bed in two clean swipes.

"SATs next Saturday. Finals right after that." I sat down on the now-clean bed. "Enough talking, fuck me already."

Brian tilted his head slightly, staring at me. "Is this your pain management thing again?"

My jaw dropped. "Fucking hell, Brian!"

"All right, all right," Brian said with a smirk on his face. "Don't get your titties in a twist."

I scowled.

"I intended to fuck the shit out of you anyway," Brian added, climbing onto the bed, guiding me so that I was lying flat on my back and he was on all fours above me. "I didn't drive all the way over here and watch you give your kid a fucking bath just to refuse to fuck you."

I huffed out a laugh. "That wasn't a bath. I'll let you give him a bath sometime, and you'll see what real screaming is."

"I'll show you what real screaming is," Brian promised, before capturing my mouth with a demanding kiss.

"How kind of you," I replied dizzily, when we broke apart.

He dipped his head again for another kiss, his fingers working on the button of my jeans and brushing at my already-hardening cock through the denim material. Pleasure shot straight down to my balls, and I gasped when his fingers slipped under the band of my underwear.

"Aaaaah… Brian…"

I bucked my hips up as his hand closed around my cock, large and rough and oh-so-tight, and he took the opportunity to yank my pants and underwear down with his other hand. I intended to push myself up to kiss him, to start pulling his shirt off, when his hand jerked on my cock and the explosion of pleasure drove my eyes into the back of my head. Some noise escaped my mouth. It probably wasn't very intelligent-sounding.

Brian pumped my cock with abandon, fast and harsh, and it was all I could do to keep my teeth gritted and most of my cries stuffed down my throat. My head was thrown back as far as it could be, my hips lifting off the mattress with every pull of his hand, and any time I thought that I could regain control over myself it was jerked away from me. Brian was unrelenting, so fucking  _tight_  and  _hard_  and oh my god, the callous just at the base of his thumb was catching my delicate skin just the right—

My balls tightened, my head rushed, and I knew I only had seconds.

"Brian!"

"Come. Now."

I came, my back arching up off of the bed and my hands gripping at Brian's shoulders as the orgasm washed over me, dragging my down like an undertow beneath the pounding waves.

Collapsing back onto the bed, I gasped for breath and slowly surfaced.

"Roll over," Brian ordered.

I opened my eyes, staring at him hazily for a moment, and then I realized that the handjob had been to take the edge off so that I would last longer during the main event. He'd done it before. I supposed that I should have been embarrassed by my lack of control, but instead I just grinned and rolled over, kicking off my jeans as I did so.

Above me, I heard Brian's zipper going down and the rustle of his pants.

"After this," he said, one hand tracing down my back, "you're going to show me that auto-fellatio you've been working on. Unless you were lying to me?"

I shook my head. "I can only get about three inches in, though. You know that auto-fellatio actually has roots in ancient Egyptian mythology?"

"Mm," said Brian. His pants had been disposed of, and he was now working on his shirt.

"The sun god, Ra, sucked himself off and spat semen on the ground, creating Tefnut and Shu."

"How do you know this shit? I thought you had SATs on Saturday, finals right after that, and a child to raise?" Brian asked. He kissed the back of my neck and then began trailing his kisses down my spine, making them wetter and applying more tongue as he went farther south.

"Ninth-grade mythology project," I replied breathlessly. " _Cult of Ra_ , by Stephen Quirke. It was on the left-hand page, in the middle of the third paragraph, at the end of chapter nine."

Brian paused. "You've got a fucking photographic memory?"

"Well, not really," I said, shaking my head. "I can just picture where it is in the book. Not actual words. And the start of the new chapter was on the right-hand page, and I can see the ten. But I couldn't tell you, say, the page number. Or a word-for-word quote."

"You're a freak."

"Daphne can do it, too," I protested.

"You're both freaks," was Brian's oh-so-clever reply.

"Fuck me already," I demanded, pushing my ass up so that it rubbed against Brian's cock. "I'm sooooooo horny!"

Brian snorted, but moments later, there was a slight tearing sound—the tearing of plastic, not foil—and then his finger, cold and lubed, was pushing its way into my ass.

I reached up and dragged my pillow down, burying my face in it and gripping the corners as ripples of pleasure were stirred by Brian's finger. I knew that he intended to make me scream—it was his favorite thing, watching me try and fail to maintain my control—but I didn't have to extend the pleasure to the whole house.

I was moving on with my life. Cal had killed himself and that had been his choice—this was mine. I chose to live, to move forward and love and fuck and raise my son the best way I knew how. He'd given up, but that wasn't me. I didn't quit. I hadn't let myself get knocked down by anyone, not my parents or Chris Hobbs or Brian fucking Kinney, and I wasn't about to start.

Brian slid another finger in, and I gritted my teeth at the burn.

But unlike that night at the hospital, or the night when I'd left home for good, I didn't want it to burn. I didn't want the pain, and I didn't want to escape my problems. Cal's death hadn't left me reeling, panicked or hurting—it had just… happened. And I'd gotten over it.

What choice did I have, though? One by one, the support systems for Luke had been falling away, starting with his mother's death back in September and finally ending this week with Cal's suicide. I was all he had left. I was the only one who was still here. So now I was standing on my own, moving forward despite the weight of the responsibilities that had been thrust upon me, and I wasn't looking back.

What other choice did I have?

Brian had three fingers in me by this point, and he was brushing against my prostate with a maddening lightness. I pushed my face down into the pillow, clenching the corners in my fists in anticipation.

His breath came hot on my ear, fingers just circling my prostate. "Ready?"

I raised my head, panting. "God, yes."

His finger slid out of me, and I heard ripping again, this time of foil. My cock was hard even as it was pressed between my stomach and the mattress, and I wondered if the bedspread was going to be ruined. Probably. But I couldn't bring myself to care at the moment. All I knew was that I was aching and ready, and the head of Brian's cock was now butting against my entrance.

His hands gripped my hips, and I pushed my face down into the pillow.

Brian's cock slid in slowly, burning and pushing and huge, and I yelled into the pillow, squeezing my eyes shut as the pain shot through my pelvis.

All the way in, Brian stopped.

He was completely inside me, filling me, stretching me impossibly, but the pain was dissipating.

Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself up on all fours, feeling Brian move with me and wrap an arm around my stomach. The movement changed the angle of his cock inside of me, aligning it straight to my prostate, and I gasped at the shock of pleasure that pulsed inside of me.

Brian took that as his cue to start.

I was ready for him.


	13. Weightless

**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 13: Weightless**

"One day, grasshopper," Brian said, stroking my hair. "One day you'll get it all in there."

I was on my back, gasping for air and dizzy, my own cum dribbling down my chin. Brian was fucking  _ruthless_  as an auto-fellatio coach. Several of my vertebrae felt as if they had been disconnected from my spinal cord.

"But it was fucking hot," Brian whispered into my ear.

I grinned despite myself. "Yeah."

I lay there in silence for a few more minutes, recovering, the sweat drying on my face and making it cool. Brian was half-sprawled on top of me, feet hanging off the end of the bed, chest pushing against mine with every even breath he took. I knew it was coming, though. He said it, without fail, every single time the excitement of sex wore off. I could see it building, and I knew it would be any second, now. He wasn't having sex and had the time to think about it, it had to be coming any—

"This bed is too fucking small," Brian griped, shifting and trying to move off of me as much as possible, without any significant success.

I sighed.

Brian pushed at my shoulder. "Move over."

I obliged, moving the whole three inches that I had to spare, which seemed to appease Brian.

"Just think of how much bigger your bed will seem, when you fuck me in it on Saturday!" I pointed out brightly, turning my head and flashing him a smile.

Brian raised his eyebrows. "I'm doing what on Saturday night?"

"Me, of course," I said, elbowing him. "I told you I'm going out to Babylon, remember? To celebrate the end of my SATs?"

"And I'm sure you'll find many a lovely boy in the backroom to celebrate with," Brian replied.

I rolled my eyes. "Well, yeah. But after them. You're going to take me home and fuck me, aren't you?"

"I fucked you tonight," was Brian's response.

"In a tiny little twin bed, with my son and your surrogate mother downstairs," I said dryly.

Brian shrugged.

"Besides," I went on, pushing myself up on my elbows and looking down at him with a dirty grin. "You promised you'd teach me how to use all the things in your sex toy cupboard. The only thing in there I recognized were the dildos, and I haven't even used one of those before."

"I'll buy you one for Christmas."

"Please?"

Brian's expression became irritated. "Look, if you turn up on Saturday night and I don't see anyone else I want, I'll take you home, all right?"

I was struck by sudden inspiration.

"I know!" I said, pushing myself all the way up and sitting cross-legged on the bed, bouncing excitedly. "I've been reading about butt plugs! You're supposed to leave it in for a few hours, right? And it stretches you and rubs on your prostate and stuff?"

Brian blinked. "Where the hell do you  _read_  about butt plugs?"

"You could put a butt plug in me before we go," I said, ignoring him. "And then we could go to Babylon, and I could fuck some other guys—with your butt plug in me—and then—"

"Oh, trust me," Brian snorted, "if you've got a butt plug in, you won't be fucking other guys. You'll be lucky if you can dance without creaming your pants."

I blew out an impatient breath. "Fine, then. I'll just dance. And if I'm coming all night in Babylon, think about how much longer I'll last when you fuck me back at the loft!"

Brian closed his eyes, grunting.

"I might even last longer than  _you_ ," I teased.

"Oh, right," Brian laughed. He cracked his eyes open. "That's not gonna happen. I  _never_  come first."

I nodded reasonably. "Though I think that's more a product of your advanced age, rather than your supreme—oof!"

I had been shoved back down onto the bed. Brian loomed over me, a mad glint in his eye.

"A product of my what?" Brian demanded, finger poking my side where he  _knew_  I was ticklish.

I squealed and tried to curl up, but Brian was too good.

"Age! It's perfectly—it's natural!" I insisted, as Brian continued to tickle me relentlessly. "Failing levels of—Brian!—testosterone and low potassium—this is for your own—Brian, please, stop! Brian!"

"Take it back."

"Okay, okay!" I giggled helplessly, squirming and trying to get away from Brian's fingers. "I take it back!"

Brian stopped, smirking. "You give in way too easily."

I uncurled, breathless and grinning. "You know you use two different sets of nerves to erect the penis, depending on what the stimulation is?"

Brian groaned. "Justin, if I wanted to fuck a medical encyclopedia, I would have fucked Dr. Dave."

"Speaking of him…"

Brian flopped down on the bed, mostly not on top of me. "Why would we want to?"

"When was the last time you talked to Michael?" I asked, turning my head on the pillow to look at him.

"I have no reason to talk to Michael," Brian replied easily.

"Bullshit. You're still his best friend."

"No, I'm not."

"He loves you."

"No, he doesn't. Not anymore. The rose-colored glasses have at last come off, and Mikey's been living happily ever after since."

"But he doesn't even realize what you did for him!"

Brian rolled his eyes, but I saw the flash of pain behind it. "It's Mikey. Of course he doesn't."

"Then you should  _tell_  him." I rolled over on my stomach, putting half of myself on top of Brian in the small bed. "Brian, I know you miss him."

"I miss having a designated driver, that's all," Brian said, but he averted his eyes.

"Admit it," I said, glaring at him. "Admit that you miss him."

"I don't fucking miss him."

"You do!"

Brian pushed himself up. "I'm leaving."

Shit.

"He misses you!" I threw out desperately. "He comes over here, and he misses you a lot, Brian. He misses his best friend."

Brian glanced back at me, and I knew that he knew I was lying. I wasn't very good at it.

He scowled at me. "Just stay the fuck out of it, all right? I don't want your help, and I sure as fuck don't need it."

I don't know why I was so desperate to help Brian get Mikey back—Mikey hated me, and reuniting him with Brian would mean that Brian would stop coming over to fuck me all the time. It completely went against my Get Brian to Love Me (Or At Least Be My Sort-of Boyfriend) Plan.

But Brian was hurting over this. He needed Mikey.

"Will you come over this week?" I asked, resigning myself to the fact that the conversation about Michael was over, and that Brian was really leaving. He was already half-dressed. I spotted my underwear near the foot of the bed, and leaned over to collect them.

"Won't you be busy studying?" Brian shot back.

"It's been clinically proven that sexual activity positively impacts a person's academic performance," I said smartly. I'd gotten my underwear on, and I moved to collect my jeans from the floor.

Brian, wrestling with his shirt, paused to give me a disbelieving look.

"It's true!" I protested. "I swear."

"Right."

"Come over at least once before Saturday," I said.

"We'll see," Brian said.

I sighed, knowing it was the best that I was going to get out of him. Then I followed him downstairs, gave him a very intense kiss goodbye (which Vic appreciated a little too vocally), and then tried and failed to convince him to kiss Luke good bye, too.

"He'll do it one day," I told Vic, as the Jeep's headlights flashed across the living room.

Vic gave me an appraising look. "You know, he just might."

 

As the next morning was Sunday, Luke and I came downstairs to Vic manning the waffle iron and Debbie turning bacon over the stove. It was only eight in the morning, but they were singing a cheerful and terribly harmonized rendition of "Paper Moon" that made me grin as I came into the kitchen. Last week, I had come home from school to find the two of them doing a fairly awful foxtrot in the living room, but now I wasn't sure whether it was their dancing or their singing that needed the most improvement.

Then Debbie caught sight of me and dropped out, leaving Vic alone on a rather high "penny arcade" (which he quickly cut off).

"Well good morning, busboy," she said, raising an eyebrow at me.

My eyes widened. "I got the job!"

"Of course you got the job, you little shit!" Debbie exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me you were applying? I don't even know why you need a job, you've got enough going on as it is!"

"I wanted to get it on my own," I explained. "I told them on the application that I could only work weekends while I was in school, and Vic said that he could watch Luke for me."

Said baby was fussing in my arms, and I deposited him into the high chair.

"You knew?" Debbie asked, whirling on Vic.

Vic shrugged. "Sure."

Debbie put her hands on her hips, turning back to me. "Well, what do you need a job for, anyway? My little asshole of a son hasn't been going on about you being some kind of freeloader, has he?"

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head vigorously, although Michael had been saying nothing but since I'd moved in last month. "I just need money for Luke. I know that Mom's been helping out with groceries and diapers and stuff, but he needs clothes. Toys. Christmas is coming up and I want him to have a really special first Christmas."

"Honey, I'm sure your parents—"

"I'm not asking them for more money," I interrupted, before she could even suggest it. "Besides, I need to save money for other things—car insurance, stuff for me… you know. And I can't live here forever."

"You can stay here as long as you need to!"

Vic had abandoned the waffle iron to stand behind Debbie a few moments ago, and now he placed a hand on her shoulder. "He knows that, Sis. I told him. But c'mon, would you want to live with two old fuddy-duddies like us?"

"No, I love living here!" I protested immediately. "I just—I want Luke to be raised in a place that's  _ours_." And I wanted him to have his own room so that Brian could come over and fuck me after Luke went to bed, but I didn't add that in.

"Well, you're staying here until you graduate, at least," Debbie declared, pointing her tongs at me.

I opened my mouth to agree.

"No arguing!" Debbie waved the tongs threateningly—until the stove caught her attention, and she spun around. "Shit! The bacon!"

I exchanged a look with Vic, who had been filled in on my entire plan and therefore knew that I hadn't been about to argue. Vic gave a slight shrug. Deciding to let it go, I smiled and moved over to the fridge to retrieve a cup of yogurt for Luke. I'd been slowly increasing the amount of dairy in his diet, and he'd been responding well so far.

"Only a little black!" Debbie announced. "I think it's okay."

"Waffles are good to go," Vic added, setting a plate on the table.

I grabbed a bottle of pre-mixed formula out of the fridge, too, and the box of Cheerios off the top of the fridge.

"Don't forget, there's a PFLAG spaghetti dinner next Saturday," Debbie announced. "Vic, you're gonna come help me cook."

"I'll try to keep a clear schedule," Vic said dryly, as I set Luke's breakfast on the table. "What are you up to today, kiddo?"

Luke, recognizing the box of Cheerios, began reaching for it excitedly, babbling away.

"Studying," I replied with a gloomy sigh. "I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea to take my SATs with my finals. I'm starting to have dreams where everyone is speaking to me in multiple choice format."

"Well don't over-study, okay? There's only so many times you can read the same shit over and over," Vic advised.

"Besides, you're a fuckin' genius. Wouldn't surprise me if you got a perfect score!" Debbie said, ruffling my hair.

Dumping a handful of Cheerios on Luke's high chair, I shook my head. "Probably not a perfect score. But my practice tests are putting me at 1550, so we'll see."

"1550's good?" Debbie asked.

I nodded as I pulled a waffle onto my plate. "Yeah. 1600 is perfect."

The phone rang.

"That had better not be the fucking diner," Debbie muttered, putting down her fork and pushing herself up out of her chair. "I'm already working a double tonight and I worked late last night, they've got to let me rest some time…"

I cut into my waffles and accepted the syrup that Vic passed me.

"Hello?" Debbie answered.

I peeled back the lid of the yogurt and got a small spoonful of it, then reached over, pulling down Luke's hands that were about to stuff another Cheerio into his mouth.

"Oh! Yeah, we just sat down for breakfast—bacon got a little burnt, but I just think it adds flavor, you know? Here—Justin?"

I looked up in surprise.

Debbie grinned. "It's your mom."

My smile dropped instantly.

Mom? What did she want?

"Sure," I said, swallowing. I set down the spoon and let Luke go back to his Cheerios as Debbie handed me the phone. "Hi, Mom."

"Hi, sweetheart," Mom said, sounding happy. "How are you?"

"Fine," I answered. Then, not planning to go through five minutes of pleasant chatter before she felt it polite to come out and say whatever it was that she had to say, I cut to the chase. "What did you want?"

There was a pause of startled silence before Mom spoke. "Justin—there's a lawyer here to talk to you."

"A lawyer?" I repeated, while trying to push down on my reflexive panic. "Why? What does he want?"

" _She_ ," Mom corrected, like I actually cared. "She's here on behalf of Mr. Anderson, and she needs to talk to you. Something about his will."

Oh, shit. His will.

There went my plan to forget all about Cal fucking Anderson. What did I have to do with his will, anyway? Surely he wouldn't have left me anything.

"Can you come over so we can talk about this? She drove here specifically to see you, and she probably doesn't have a lot of free time on her hands," Mom said, and even through the fog of despair that had been accumulating around me, I could hear her subtly suggesting that I shouldn't act like an ungrateful brat here.

"Sure," I said tonelessly.

"I'll make you some pancakes, how about that?" Mom offered hopefully. "And we've got orange juice—the kind you like, with no pulp."

"I already ate breakfast, thanks."

"Oh… All right."

I blinked, forcing myself back to reality. "Right. I'll be over in about fifteen minutes."

"Is someone around to babysit Luke?" Mom asked.

"I thought I would just bring him with me," I said slowly, trying to keep the sudden anger at bay. "It is his dead grandfather we're talking about, after all."

"I don't think a baby would be appropriate for this meeting, Justin," Mom replied with a hint of severity.

"You mean you're afraid that a neighbor will see that your fuck-up of a son still has his kid?" I demanded furiously. "Or, what, this lawyer is a friend of Dad's and he wants to impress her? Does she belong to the country club, too?"

Vic and Debbie were both staring at me.

Over the line, Mom sighed. "Justin—"

"I'm bringing my son with me," I hissed. "And you can damn well live with it."

I hung up before she could reply.

 

I showed up at the house twenty minutes later, diaper bag over my shoulder and Luke in his carrier in my hand. He was pushing at the buckles as best he could with his little mittens on, but he wasn't agitated about it—yet. I suspected that the day he started walking would also be the last day of the carrier. But thankfully, we still had another month or so before he was supposed to start walking.

Mom opened the door, but did not smile at me. She studied me for a moment with an almost pained look on her face, but just stepped aside to let me into the house.

"Justin!" Molly yelled, pounding down the stairs and stopping just short of me. She stared at Luke, and wrinkled her nose. "Oh. I thought maybe he wouldn't be a baby anymore. Lame-o."

"Molly, go get dressed and brush your teeth," Mom said, giving her a gentle push in the direction of the stairs.

I slid out of my shoes and set Luke and the diaper bag on the ground so that I could take off my jacket. There had to be six inches of snow on the ground, and both Luke and I were tightly bundled against the cold. Debbie had gone so far as to insist that I wear one of her hats, an obnoxious pink knitted thing with a pom-pom on the top, because I didn't have one of my own.

"We're in the sitting room," Mom told me quietly. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

Like this was some kind of dinner party. Right.

"No thanks," I said shortly, hanging up my coat.

In the sitting room, Dad and a woman who I presumed to be the lawyer were waiting for me. The lawyer was in her forties, and wore a freshly-pressed suit that sharply contrasted with her beaten-down, tired face. She rose at my entrance.

"You must be Justin?"

I nodded.

"Pamela Fields. Call me Pam," she introduced herself, reaching out and shaking my hand. Her eyes went down to Luke in his carrier. "And this must be the man of the hour, Mr. Luke Taylor."

"Man of the hour?" I echoed, frowning.

Mom was at my side before Pam could answer. "Justin, honey, why don't you let me take Luke into the kitchen—"

"He's staying with me," I interrupted, my voice flat.

There was a tense silence.

"Why don't we sit down?" Mom suggested hesitantly.

"Do my parents have to be here for this?" I asked.

Pam's eyebrows rose. "Well. No, I suppose they don't. Legally, the only person I need to speak to is your son—and since he can't do a whole lot of talking yet, I need to speak to you on his behalf. Would you like your parents to leave?"

"Young man, if you think—"

"Yes," I said, interrupting my father.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Mom said, bringing a hand up to her eyes. "Justin, we're not the enemy, and moreover, you don't know the first thing about inheritance laws. Let me at least stay in case you have questions."

"I'm sure Pam can answer them."

Mom looked to Dad despairingly. "Craig…"

"Justin," Dad said, leaning forward. "You need to have an experienced—"

"I want them out," I told Pam.

Pam raised her eyebrows at my parents.

Grudgingly, they left. I didn't feel pleased, exactly, but then again, I wasn't focused on my emotions too much anyway. I was more worried about what the lawyer could have to say. She'd said that this was really about Luke, and Mom had mentioned inheritance… Had Cal left money behind for Luke? Had he  _planned_  his suicide that far in advance?

The thought made me sick.

"So, Justin—I'm not sure what your mother told you over the phone, so I'll just fill you in on the whole situation, all right?" Pam said.

I nodded, sitting down on the sofa across from her. I unbuckled Luke's straps and lifted him up, pulling off his little green alien hat and mittens first. He was due for his morning nap in about an hour—which would be another disadvantage of losing the carrier. No instant bed for him to take naps in, when we were out.

"So, as you know, Cal Anderson passed away last week, and so—"

"He shot himself," I interrupted.

Pam paused. "Yes. Right, he shot himself. But he left behind an out-of-date will, which I and the executioner of his will have been in the process of fixing."

"What do you mean, out-of-date?" I asked. Luke was finally out of his winter clothes, and I settled him on my knee, bouncing him a little.

"Mr. Anderson had set his daughter to inherit everything," Pam explained.

Oh.

"So, what, Luke inherits it by default?" I asked. "Is that what happens?"

"In this case, yes. The money goes to the next of kin, which is your son."

"Oh," I said, a torrent of questions running through my mind. "So—does it go into a trust for Luke, then? When will he get access to it? I didn't know that Cal had that much money to bequeath."

Especially since he'd spent the last few months drinking his soul away, the bastard.

"I have the papers here," Pam said, reaching for her briefcase. "You're not inheriting millions or anything, but Mr. Anderson did have a sizable life insurance policy. And should you choose to sell the house, I imagine that would bring in a fair bit of money as well."

Sell the house? Life insurance policies?

I started to feel a rise of despair, but I fought it down. I was still moving forward. I could deal with this.

"In answer to your initial questions," Pam went on, while she flipped through various papers, "it doesn't go into a trust for Luke that he'll inherit when he comes of age. Because you're his father, you'll be appointed as guardian over the money, and you can spend it as you wish, though the general idea is that you're supposed to spend it on the child. But, of course, you're not of age either, which presents us with another probl—ah! Here we go. Look over this, and we'll talk about your appointment in a minute."

I took the piece of paper from her and, upon first glance, only saw nonsensical legal speak. The second glance wasn't much better. The third glance, I started to figure a few things out. That… must be bank accounts. CDs, savings, checking. The last appraisal of the house's worth. The last appraisal for Cal's car. Life insurance policy.

I did some fast adding in my head.

Holy shit.

"This… this is over four hundred thousand dollars," I choked out.

Luke grabbed at the paper, but I lifted it out of his reach. My eyes went to Pam.

"All of it… it goes to us?"

"Yes, it does," Pam said, nodding. "With one minor catch."

I swallowed, and handed the paper back to her. "What is it?"

"Well, as you're not eighteen yet, you can't be appointed as guardian of the money. We'll need a guardian for you until your eighteenth birthday—which is when, by the way? Soon, I hope?"

I nodded quickly. "March. But—but my parents… They can't be in charge of the money. They can't. I don't know what bullshit they told you, but I'm disowned in everything but the paperwork. They can't—there's not some law that requires it to be them, right?"

"No, it doesn't have to be your parents," Pam assured me. "In your case, I think the courts will allow you to select your own guardian."

Well, that was okay.

But…

Christ.

Jesus Christ.

This changed everything. The plan that I'd latched onto with such ferocity this past week was now pretty much rendered needless. With that kind of money… I could afford to live on my own and go to college. I could even use the money to go to art school and become an artist, like I'd always wanted.

But it was Luke's money. I couldn't blow it on art school, when I could still probably get a full ride to a regular college in Pittsburg.

But… art school.

And who was I going to pick as temporary guardian of Luke's inheritance?

I swallowed and pulled Luke closer to me, thousands more questions running through my mind. I knew that Pam wouldn't be able to answer any of them.

 

"You look cheerful," Vic commented, when I finally returned to the house.

I nodded, fighting back tears and clutching Luke close to me, and bounded upstairs.

Vic let me be.

 

"Holy shit," was Daphne's hushed response, when I relayed to her what had happened, later that night. "Whoa. Justin, you're rich. This is great!"

"It's not me.  _Luke_  is rich," I reminded her tensely.

"Yeah, but it's the same thing."

"It's not the same. It's  _Luke's_  money," I stressed. Lying on my back on my bed, I reached up and ran a hand through my hair. "I shouldn't spend it. It's his grandfather's final gift to him, and I should let him inherit it when he turns eighteen."

"Justin, it's not a gift. Cal didn't even remember that Sara was still set to inherit—and you're as good as his next of kin, anyway," Daphne argued.

I suspected that she was arguing for the money more because she wanted me to be filthy rich than because she actually understood my moral dilemma, but it was kind of a good point anyway.

"I'd like to tell Luke it was a gift," I sighed. "He doesn't need to know that his grandfather was a lousy drunk who gave up on life and shot himself."

"Oh, so you're going to lie to him?"

I sighed. "No. But…"

"Look at it this way," Daphne said, after a moment. "You want Luke to have the best possible childhood, right? You know how important it is for kids to have stable, healthy homes to grow up in. Wouldn't you consider it a great gift to Luke if he could have that without you killing yourself and shipping him off to daycare all the time? Instead of just handing him a lump of cash when he turns eighteen, and then he goes and buys something stupid like a speedboat, and crashes and dies by the time he's twenty."

"What would he do with a speedboat?" I asked. "We don't even live near a lake."

"Don't be deliberately obtuse," Daphne said, and I could hear her rolling her eyes.

"I had another thought, today," I said, changing the subject to what was bothering me more.

"Two in one day? You really are prepared for Saturday, aren't you?"

"Fuck you. This is a Serious Conversation. There are no jokes allowed."

"Or speedboats?"

"Or speedboats."

Daphne giggled. "All right, fine. What was your thought?"

The morose mood settled back in quickly.

"I… It just didn't really hit me until today that if I die, Luke doesn't have anyone. Like, I knew that it was only me and him, but I never thought about what would happen to him if  _I_  were to die."

"Justin, you're not going to die," Daphne said slowly.

"Like Sara didn't die?" I challenged. "Like Cal didn't die?"

"Sara was a freak accident, and Cal's death was of his own choosing. You know that."

"Look, I'm not saying that I think I'm going to die tomorrow," I said, trying to find a different way to explain it. "But if these last few months have taught me anything, it's how quickly people can drop out of your life. I want to know that if something happens to me, there's someone there for Luke."

"Of course there's someone there for Luke!" Daphne protested, as I knew she would. "Me!"

I was beginning to get frustrated. "Well, sure, but you're not—you can't  _raise_  him."

"And why not?" Daphne asked indignantly.

"Because you've got college, and grad school, and you don't even like kids that much," I said, trying and failing to explain why it felt so wrong to leave Luke in Daphne's care. She just didn't understand what kind of responsibility it took to raise a child. She shouldn't have to know that kind of responsibility.

"I love Luke, you know I do," Daphne said stubbornly. "And if something happened to you, I would take him in."

I gritted my teeth, willing myself not to tell her that it just wouldn't be  _right_.

"I've got to give Luke a bath," I said instead.

"Justin—"

"I'm not mad," I promised quickly. "I just—I can't do this tonight. I'll see you tomorrow at school, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Daphne said, after a pause. Her voice was flat. "See you tomorrow."

 

Daphne was cool toward me the following morning, and in the end I decided to spend lunch alone in the computer lab, researching inheritance and life insurance policies. In the end, though, I probably should have stuck with Daphne, despite the cold shoulder.

"Hey, faggot," Chris Hobbs said, plunking down in the chair next to me.

I eyed him warily. "Can I help you?"

"I heard your dead girlfriend's dad shot himself last week. It was in the paper this morning."

"So?" I asked carefully. My heart was pounding and my palms were sweating. What did he want? What was he going to do? We were the only two people in here, and the door was shut.

"So, why'd he do it?" Chris demanded, leaning closer. "I heard it was because he found out you're a fairy. What'd you do, Taylor? He catch you diddling his precious grandson?"

I snapped.

"Fuck you!" I snarled, lunging, but Chris easily caught me and shoved me back, pinning me to the chair.

"You like little boy penis, Taylor?" Chris asked, his voice low and his breath hot on my face. He trapped my wrists with one hand as the other snared my neck, squeezing lightly. "You like shoving your dick in their tiny little toothless mouths? You pass him around to all your little faggot friends?"

The rage was pounding inside of me so furiously I could hardly see. I pushed myself upwards, trying to escape Chris' hold on my neck, and struggled to speak. "You—seem to—know—a lot about this."

Chris slammed my neck, and my head snapped back.

"You'd better watch yourself, Taylor," he growled.

I couldn't speak. I was focusing on breathing, mostly.

"Watch yourself," Chris repeated threateningly, and then he let me go.

I gasped, my hands flying to my neck. My next instinct was to fly at him, but my movement caused a wave of dizziness that I couldn't fight through, and Chris was already out of the seat and headed out of the computer lab. There was no point in going after him. I'd never win against him in a fight, not here.

 

Brian came over that night, of course. I had mostly holed up in my room—all I had to do was mention SATs, and Debbie all but insisted that I have a mini-fridge and a porta-potty installed in my room so that I wouldn't ever have to leave. She was almost more determined for me to do well than I was. But Brian showed up, and I certainly couldn't refuse him, especially when he'd left so abruptly on Saturday.

Unfortunately, I hadn't checked out my neck in the bathroom mirror since that afternoon, and hadn't been aware of the faint lines of bruising that had appeared like wisps across my throat. Brian noticed them pretty quickly, though.

"What's this?" he asked, a finger running across my neck.

I winced slightly as his finger crossed my windpipe, which was still sore. I reached up and grabbed his hand, pulling it away. "Nothing. Just Chris Hobbs being an asshole."

"Who the hell is Chris Hobbs?" Brian demanded.

"The asshole at school—I told you about him, he's the one who keeps insinuating that I'm molesting Luke," I said impatiently.

"And attempting to strangle you, apparently." Brian's fingers returned to where the bruising must have been.

"He heard about Cal's death, and he was saying... Anyway, I kind of lost my temper. If I hadn't tried to attack him, he would never have touched me."

Brian's face twisted for a minute, then two, his fingers drifting up to rest on my jaw.

"It's fine," I said, shaking my head. I attempted a grin. "Did you come over here to fuck me or not?"

"Yeah," Brian said, seeming to give himself a little shake. "And don't think I'm going to go any easier on you just because you're injured."

I reached up to pull him down for a kiss, intended to make him forget about my neck and Chris Hobbs, when the sound of the door opening reached my ears, and a moment later I heard Michael's voice over the baby monitor.

"Why is that asshole's car parked outside?"

Brian froze.

I let out a breath, closing my eyes. Shit. What was this going to mean? I didn't know how much more drama I could handle right now.

"He's visiting Justin," Vic said mildly.

"Oh, so they go upstairs and fuck each other's brains out, and leave you with the little brat?"

I tensed, my fists clenching. How  _dare_  he call my son a brat?

Brian, who already had his hands on my upper arms, rubbed his thumb gently across my skin.

"Even parents need to have sex sometimes, kid," Vic replied, a light chuckle in his voice. "You think your ma never went out and—"

"Eugh!" Michael cried. "Uncle Vic!"

Vic laughed.

"Does he at least pay you to watch the kid?" Michael pressed.

"I never asked your ma to pay me when I watched you," Vic pointed out.

"Yeah, but that's family. You shouldn't let him freeload like this, Uncle Vic—you guys need the money, and I'm sure the little shit can afford it. Especially after all the other things you guys do for him!"

"Justin is family," Vic said firmly. "And that makes Luke family, too."

"And what's gonna happen when he decides that he wants Brian more than he wants his little brat?" Michael asked. "You can't let him take advantage of you guys—he needs to raise his own kid. You and Ma shouldn't be doing it for him."

"Fuck you!" I cried, and I tried to sit up, but Brian held me down.

"He's just upset because I'm here," Brian said quietly.

"Can your ego get any bigger?" I hissed. "It's not about you, Michael just hates me. He says shit like this all the time. And I'm not going to allow Luke to be down there with someone who hates him—that's why I left home in the first place."

I tried to get up again, and this time, Brian let me.

"Well, how much longer are they gonna be?" Michael's voice continued, through the baby monitor. "I came over to get the last of my stuff, and it's in my closet."

"You could knock on the door and ask," Vic suggested with a snicker.

"I'll just wait down here," Michael said grumpily.

I pulled a shirt down over my head and turned my gaze to Brian. "You could go hide in Vic's bedroom, and I'll tell Michael that he can come up here and get his shit?"

"What the fuck do you think I am?" Brian demanded. "I'm not hiding from Mikey like some little fairy."

"Then come downstairs with me," I persisted. I didn't want to leave Brian alone when Michael saw him. Not that Brian would ever allow me to protect him like I wanted to, but at least he wouldn't be by himself.

But Brian didn't move.

I leaned over and grabbed his hand, tugging with all my strength—which alone wouldn't have gotten Brian off the bed, but he relented and allowed me to pull him off the bed.

"Get clothes on," I said, picking his jeans up off the floor and handing them over.

Brian dressed with surprising haste, and trailed after me as I hurried downstairs.

Vic was getting Luke to coast around the coffee table by dragging his hippo along the surface, making him take shaky steps after it while gripping the edge of the coffee table. For a moment, I felt a rush of pride that Luke was almost walking—such a smart little fucker—and then I noticed Michael slouched on the couch with his back to us. At least, until he heard my footsteps down the stairs, and then his head snapped around.

"If it isn't Boy Wonder," Michael sneered. "And sidekick."

"Go up and get your shit," I said flatly, crossing into the living room.

Luke spotted me and his face lit up, completely forgetting about the hippo. "Dada!"

"What are you doing here?" Michael demanded of Brian, rising to his feet.

"Fucking Justin," Brian replied easily.

"I don't want you coming over here anymore," Michael said abruptly. "Stay out of my house, and stay away from Ma and Uncle Vic."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "It's not your house, Mikey."

"You ruin  _everything!_ " Michael exploded.

Brian's arrogant expression vanished.

"You've spent the last fourteen years abusing me and making my life a living hell! You're the most self-centered, cruel, heartless bastard I've ever met, and I can't believe that I let you poison me and my family for so long." Michael took in a great, heaving breath. "But I'm done with it, now. I'm done with you. Get out of my life."

Luke was started to make distressed noises, picking up on the tension in the room, and I quickly scooped him up before he started crying and made the situation worse.

For a moment, I thought Brian was going to argue with Michael. I certainly hoped that he would.

But he just inhaled and, slowly, nodded. "Fine."

"No!" I protested immediately.

"No one asked you," Michael snapped.

"Michael—" Vic started.

"I don't want to see you at family dinners, either," Michael called after Brian, as he walked up the stairs to get his jacket. "And you better stay out of the diner, too. And—"

"Will you shut up?" I demanded, hoisting Luke higher on my hip. "Do you even know what he's done for you? What he's given up for you?"

Michael spluttered. "What  _he's_  given up for  _me?_  I wasted fourteen years of my life being led on by him!"

"And that's your own fault, for being pathetic," I shot back as I brushed past him, heading for the stairs.

I pounded up the stairs, Luke clutching the front of my shirt and burying his face in my chest, making little whimpering sounds. I put a hand on the back of his head, rubbing gently.

"Brian?" I called when I got the top of the stairs.

He emerged from my room—Michael's room—with his jacket and shoes on.

"Don't go," I pleaded, crossing over to him. "Please don't go. Michael's just being a petty asshole, you know that Debbie and Vic love you and they know what you did for him, even if he's too stupid to realize it."

"He has every right to push me out of his life," Brian said, with a slight shrug.

"No, he doesn't!" I insisted. "You pushed him away because you  _love_  him. And you'd—you'd just let him go? Just like that?"

I was fighting against the question that I really wanted to ask.  _What about me?_  I wanted to demand.  _How will you see me if you don't come over to Debbie's?_

But this wasn't about me, right now. It was about Brian letting Michael push him away and Brian hurting without his best friend.

"It's for his own good," Brian said at length.

"But what about  _your_  good?" I asked.

Brian smiled bitterly. "No one cares about my good."

"I do!" I protested. I took a step forward, moving my free hand from the back of Luke's head to grab the lapel on Brian's jacket, tugging gently. "I care."

Brian snorted.

Luke had calmed now that no one was yelling, and was now quite taken by the buttonhole in Brian's jacket. I pulled his hand back with a quiet, "No," and then looked up at Brian.

"Stay," I said again.

"I'll see you on Saturday," Brian told me.

"But—"

He kissed me then, one hand coming up the side of my face as his tongue pushed its way into my mouth, and if it weren't Luke in my arms I would have  _melted_.

"Saturday," Brian repeated as he broke away. "I'll save a dance for you."

I made a slight face. "Fine. But this conversation isn't over."

Brian's fingers went to my neck, lightly tracing where I'm sure the bruises were. "You should tell someone about this."

"I told you, it's nothing," I said stubbornly, setting my jaw. "I'm capable of—no, Luke. No. That isn't for you. No."

I pulled his hand back a final time, and this time I kept it in my grip.

Brian smirked at me. "See ya."

"See ya," I echoed quietly.

I watched him walk down the stairs to leave. I knew that Michael was going to be up here soon to collect his stuff, but I didn't even want to look at him right now. I didn't want to hear him bitch about Brian and me freeloading, and making cutting remarks about what a shitty father I was.

I decided, therefore, to give Luke a bath. And I would leave the door open, so that Michael too could be treated to Luke's screams.

 

For the next four days, I existed in a haze of studying. I forced myself to forget about Cal's death, Luke's inheritance, what would happen to Luke if I died, and Brian's feud with Michael, and spent every waking moment studying for either final exams or the SAT. I even started reciting biological pathways to Luke while I changed his diapers. Both Pam and my mother called, but I didn't return their calls. I had to do well on the SAT, I had to do no less than excellent to make sure that I got that scholarship.

So I studied and forgot. The actual SAT went by in a blur, and when I got home, Luke was taking his afternoon nap. I flopped down on my bed to join him.

And that night, I headed to Brian's.

"I kicked  _ass_  today!" I announced proudly, as soon as Brian opened the door to the loft.

"I remember telling you to meet me at Babylon," Brian commented as I strode inside the loft.

I glanced over at the bed. "Doesn't look like you've got company. I was thinking you could put that butt plug in me now, and then we'd go to Babylon and I'll get really, reeeeaaaaally drunk, and then you can fuck the ever-living shit out of me as soon as we get back from Babylon."

"How about you go to Babylon without me, get really drunk, fuck a bunch of guys, and if I don't happen to see anyone else attractive by the end of the night, I'll bring you back here and fuck the ever-living shit out you?" Brian suggested.

"I like my plan better," I said.

"Well, yours isn't going to happen," Brian replied. He grabbed my shoulders and turned me around, giving me a little shove toward the door. "I have company coming over three minutes ago. And it's for business, before you ask if you can join."

I snorted. "Please. Like you do business on Saturday nights."

Just to contradict me and make me feel like an idiot, the buzzer rang then. Insolently, I reached over and pushed the button before Brian could.

Brian yanked me back against him, clapping a hand over my mouth. He leaned forward and pushed the button himself. "Yeah?"

I started licking his hand, but apparently Brian was no longer fazed by my bodily fluids, because he didn't let go.

"It's Kip," an unfamiliar voice said through the speaker.

"Come on up," Brian replied, and then he let go of the button and me, simultaneously.

"Kip? You've fucking a guy named  _Kip?_ " I demanded.

"That's none of your business."

"But it sounds like a dog."

"Scat," Brian ordered, giving me a push toward the door, "before he gets up here and thinks I'm some kind of perve."

I grinned. "But you  _are_  a perve."

Brian was not amused. "Out with you."

Only a little disgruntled and still mostly grinning, I let him push me out of the loft. The elevator was running loudly, and it was probably Brian's 'business associate'. Like I believed that.

"Take the stairs," Brian ordered, and then he shut the door behind me.

I took the first few steps down, but when I heard the elevator stop at Brian's floor, I couldn't help but turn around to see what kind of trick it was that Brian didn't want me to meet. Did he have some secret dungeon master fetish? Then again, after all the shit he'd given me after our tryst at the hospital, I didn't think that was likely.

But as I watched from the shadows of the staircase, a man in a business suit—Kip—stopped in front of Brian's door and knocked twice.

Huh. So it  _was_  business.

Kip wasn't even that hot. Not bad, but not anyone I'd want to fuck.

Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I took off down the stairs before Brian could open the door and see me standing there.

 

By the time Brian got to Babylon, I'd had three shots and been to the backroom once. Two of the shots had been from the same guy, and I was trying to squeeze another one out of him by periodically flashing my eyes in his direction as I danced. He wasn't someone that I even wanted to blow me—dressed in nigh but a pair of assless chaps, and without the ass to make them work—but I'd used a frightening percentage of my current cash pile on the cover charge, and there was no way I could afford alcohol.

Brian would buy me drinks, though. I wouldn't even have to shake my ass at him.

Well, at least not for five minutes straight. A little wiggling might be involved, but I was okay with that.

"Buy me a drink," I demanded, coming up to him just as he was handing over a ten for his own drink.

Brian turned around, raising an eyebrow. "Don't you have a fake ID?"

"Yeah, but I don't have any money," I replied. I let out a long-suffering sigh and fell back against him dramatically, throwing my head back. "I've been whoring myself out for drinks for  _hours_. It's been exhausting."

"Just how drunk are you planning to get?" Brian asked.

" _Very_." I thought about for a moment, my back still flush against Brian's chest. "But not so drunk that you can't fuck me later. That's still happening."

Brian's lips suddenly latched onto my earlobe. "Trust me," he said quietly, making me shiver. "If I'm buying you drinks, I fully expect you to pay me back later."

A little thrill of excitement shot through me at his words.

"Pay you back how?" I asked slyly.

Brian slipped a hand down to cup my ass, teeth still nibbling at my ears. "Depends on how much I'm spending on you."

"Mm," I said, grinding back against him. My ears picked up the rhythm of the song currently playing, and I ground in time with the beat. "What's me riding your cock worth?"

I could feel Brian's cock stirring as my ass rubbed against his groin, and I smirked.

"Oh, that's worth at least three shots of tequila," he said, mouth hot on my ear. "Four, if you throw in a blowjob."

I grinned lazily. "Don't be silly. You don't have to buy me a shot if you want to blow me."

Brian bit down on my ear. "Twat."

I giggled, turning around to finally face him and sliding my arms around his neck. "So, buy me a shot? Then I want that dance you promised me."

Brian sighed and untangled himself from me, leaning across the counter and holding out a hand to signal the bartender.

Shouldn't Be Wearing Assless Chaps was giving me a dirty look across the bar.

I couldn't help the huge smile on my face, and not just because I was no longer squeezing drinks out of nasty old queens.


	14. Impending

**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 14: Impending**

"So what the fuck is this plan of yours that you won't shut up about?" Brian asked, over breakfast at the diner.

I'd convinced him to come with me  _and_  pay for my food, with only a quick blowjob in the shower. Pancakes had never been so sweetly earned.

I frowned. "Well, I'm not sure how necessary it is now, but the initial plan was for me to score a full ride to a college in Pittsburgh and then defer enrollment for a year, make as much money as I could, and then work and go to school at the same time while living on my own."

Brian's eyebrows rose. "Well, it's nothing if not ambitious."

"That's why I needed to do well on my SATs," I explained. "I need to get a scholarship. Too bad art schools don't give scholarships…"

"Art school?" Brian asked.

"I… That's what I really want," I admitted, and I felt guilty just saying the words. "It's what I've always wanted. To be an artist. But there's no way I'd get a full ride based on aptitude—I'm not that good."

"And the money your dad makes fucks you out of financial aid, right?"

"Right."

"Wrong," Brian said.

I blinked.

Brian grinned. "What, your ritzy private-school college counselor didn't tell you about this?"

"Tell me about what?" I demanded.

"You—" Brian pointed a finger at me, poking me in the chest. "—are considered independent of your family's income, by FAFSA, because you've got a kid."

I stared. "You're shitting me. Nuh-uh."

Brian nodded. "Oh, yeah."

"So… so it's just based on my income?" I asked. "Just mine? Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," Brian said. "I don't know why they would have changed it since I was in college."

I frowned. "Uh… Why…"

Brian smirked. "For one wild week in college, Lindsay and I almost got married. It's one of the other ways to make yourself exempt from your family's income."

"You almost got  _married?_ " I said incredulously.

"My athletic scholarship got blown to hell when I busted my knee sophomore year," Brian said with a shrug. "Lindsay wasn't even getting financial aid—her parents paid for college straight up—but mine weren't going to cough up so much as a cent."

"What happened?"

Brian shrugged. "I had a few academic scholarships come through, and I got an internship with Ryder."

"I…" Excitement built up inside of me, and my grin was back full force. "Shit, Brian, with the pittance of money I'm going to be making at the diner, they'll have to give me a full ride! They'll—"

Realization hit me.

The four hundred thousand dollars I would be inheriting on Luke's behalf shot me well up and out of the poverty bracket. With four hundred thousand dollars in my name, financial aid would laugh in my face if I so much as stepped inside their office.

Brian was eying me curiously.

"I… yeah," I tried weakly, but it was pale imitation of my earlier joy. "That's a really awesome idea. Thanks for telling me."

Brian's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Nothing," I said quickly.

I didn't know how I was supposed to tell him about the inheritance situation. He'd freaked out about the hospital thing for nearly a month, and he'd stayed away for almost a week after Cal had died. I didn't need to give him more reason to think I was some pathetic little twink who was bogged-down with  _drama_  and  _issues_.

"You really are a shitty liar," Brian told me.

It wasn't true. I wasn't usually this bad at lying—I'd just been so excited, and then so disappointed, and it had been such a one-eighty that I hadn't had time to recover.

"I—"

The door to the diner opened, and like an angel sent down from heaven, Daphne strolled inside, Luke's carrier hanging off of one arm and his diaper bag over her shoulder. She was bundled up like the Michelin Man, and she'd taken the liberty of pulling a blanket over Luke's carrier to keep him warmer.

I grinned brightly and waved her over.

Our fight from last week had been all but forgotten—one of the best things about Daphne was that she could never hold grudges for more than twenty-four hours. Ever.

"Good morning!" Daphne said cheerily, practically skipping over to our table despite the heavy snow boots she was wearing.

"You exchanged my son for a blanket?" I demanded, gesturing toward the blanket-covered lump in the carrier. "What, did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Daphne giggled. "I thought it would at least work until you tried to feed it."

She set the carrier on the table and I peeled back the blanket to reveal a very-thickly bundled Luke.

"Hi, Brian," Daphne said, as I made quick work of Luke's winter clothes. He could overheat quickly, especially in an already-overheated place like the diner.

"Morning, Daphne," Brian drawled, sitting back in the booth. His eyes became slits as his gaze turned to me.

I knew he wasn't done with me. I might have gotten out of it for now, but this was a conversation that we would be revisiting.

"Did you already eat without me?" Daphne asked, sitting down next to me.

I shrugged, lifting Luke up out of his carrier and onto my lap, letting him stand. "I was hungry."

"Dada," Luke announced, planting a hand over my mouth. "Dada  _buh_."

I grinned and opened my mouth, sticking out my tongue and licking Luke's hand, which he drew back with a delighted squeal.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "He's not edible, Justin."

"Says who?" I asked, as I turned him around so that he was facing Brian. "Say 'Hi, Brian. Thank you for screwing my daddy's brains out last night'."

Luke gurgled a bit, finding my syrup-covered plate more interesting.

I quickly pulled his hands back with a firm, "No."

"I'm overwhelmed by your child's vocabulary," Brian said dryly. "Also, I have to go."

"Go?" Daphne repeated. "What, already?"

"Because I really enjoy eating breakfast with two teenagers and a baby," Brian said, rolling his eyes and standing up.

"But we're such a shining example of diversity right now!" I pointed out. "We're dual-gendered, multi-racial, tri-generational…"

"A generation is twenty years, brat," Brian retorted.

I grinned. "Whatever, old man."

Brian grinned back, tongue in his cheek.

I turned Luke so that he was facing Brian again. "Say 'Bye, Brian. Bye!'"

I waved my hand, and Luke copied the motion.

Brian rolled his eyes and turned, walking away.

"Buh-buh-buh-buh-buh," Luke babbled, waving. "Bye!"

I blinked.

Daphne's head whipped around. "Did he just—"

"He did!" I was grinning so hard it hurt. "Luke, did Brian go bye-bye?"

"Bye!" Luke repeated, looking pleased.

 

Once the excitement of Luke's second word had worn off, Daphne's omelet had arrived, and I'd gone through all the juicy details of last night, I finally moved on to a less pleasant topic.

"I need to pick someone to be guardian of Luke's account until I turn eighteen," I said. "And I can't think of  _anyone_."

Daphne chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and then swallowed. "Well, definitely not your parents, right?"

I nodded.

"What about Debbie? Or Vic?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Why not?" Daphne asked.

I shrugged. "I just… I can't ask them to do that."

"Do what? Sign some forms and sit on your inheritance for a few months?"

"It's not that—I just—"

Truthfully, there wasn't a good, logical reason why I shouldn't ask Debbie.

"I just don't want to," I said finally, shaking my head. "I don't feel comfortable."

Daphne thought again. "Wasn't one of Brian's lesbian friends a lawyer?"

"Yeah, Melanie," I said, nodding. "But I hardly know her, and she's not really that fond of me. She judges me for having Luke."

"But she's a lawyer," Daphne pointed out. "She's bound to have some modicum of professionalism."

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. I don't feel like I can trust her."

"Brian?" she suggested.

I stared. "You're kidding, right? Like he'd ever actually do it."

"Your… grandparents? Aunts? Uncles?"

"What, so they can steal the little faggot's money?" I asked.

"Well, is there  _anyone_  over the age of eighteen that you trust?" Daphne demanded.

I thought about it for a moment, and then two.

"I… Not really," I said slowly. "I guess I trust Brian. But he wouldn't agree to sign the papers, anyway. Our relationship consists solely of drinking, dancing and fucking."

"So, there's no one?"

I shook my head. "I guess not."

Daphne looked at me dubiously. "Well, that poses a problem, doesn't it?"

It certainly did.

I'd have to take a leap and trust  _somebody_. I didn't have a choice.

 

The following evening, Monday night, I sucked up my courage and called Pam. She'd already left for the night, and so I left her a voice message.

"Hey Pam, it's Justin Taylor. Sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you. Um, I wanted to let you know that I have someone in mind to stand as guardian over Luke's money until I turn eighteen. My finals for school are over on Thursday morning and then I'm off for Christmas break, so maybe we could meet? You can reach me at (412) 555-3349. Thanks."

Upstairs, I alternated between reading the outline of  _As I Lay Dying_  that I'd made for Daphne weeks ago and playing pat-a-cake with Luke. Debbie was in her bedroom wrapping presents (a significant percentage of which I suspected were for Luke, given the Babies 'R' Us ads that I'd seen laying around the kitchen table for the last three weeks). My finals were almost halfway over, and once I was finished with them, I had three weeks off for Christmas and New Years. I could spend more time with Luke, work lots of shifts at the diner, see Brian more, draw…

A holler from Vic downstairs made me pause mid-clap with Luke.

"Justin! Phone for you!"

I sighed and reluctantly pushed myself to my feet.

"Buh?" Luke asked, from the floor, which was his abbreviated way of saying 'bye'.

"Nope," I replied, leaning down to pick him up. "You're coming with me, buddy-boy."

We trekked downstairs, Luke clapping and rolling his fists together in a one-man version of pat-a-cake.

"It's Mel," Vic said as he handed me the phone. He gestured to Luke. "You want me to take him?"

I shook my head. "Nah, it's fine."

Vic nodded and wandered back over to where the TV was playing.

"Hello?" I said, bringing the phone up to my ear.

"Justin!" Melanie said, sounding pleased. "Hey, baby. I heard you're busy studying for finals, so I'll keep this short, all right?"

"Okay," I said. I wondered what on earth she could need, while pointedly not thinking about Cal's mess of a will. There was no way she would know about that.

I let Luke down on the floor, and he immediately took off for the kitchen table.

"I was wondering if you could watch Gus for Lindsay and I on Friday, during the afternoon. Lindsay's going job-hunting, and I can only watch Gus for a few hours in the morning."

"Sure," I said instantly. A scrolling marquee of  _income cash money for Luke_ was running through my head over and over. "I'd love to. What time would you need me there by?"

It occurred to me, after I'd spoken, that it was odd Lindsay was job-hunting. I remember her talking incessantly about how nice it was to be able to be a stay-at-home mom during Debbie's dinner a few weeks ago, while I'd smoldered a few seats away.

"Around eleven—I've got a meeting I can't miss at eleven-thirty. Lindsay should be back around dinner time, but she might be home earlier. Is that all right?"

"That's great."

Melanie let out a breath. "Oh, thank you, so much. We really appreciate it, Justin. And of course, you can bring Luke over."

"You're welcome," I said diplomatically.

"Okay," Melanie said. "Well, I should let you get back to your studying, I guess."

"Wait," I blurted out, before I could think about it and chicken out. "I have a question."

"Ask away."

"I…" I tried rapidly to think of a neutral way to phrase my question. "You hate Brian, right?"

Melanie snorted. "Oh, yeah. And trust me, sweetie, the feeling is completely mutual. Why?"

"I just—I was wondering why you let him father your child, then?" I asked, the words coming out in a rush.

Melanie paused.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," I added quickly, suddenly realizing how personal the question was.

"No, no, it's fine," Melanie assured me. "To be honest, I didn't have much of a choice. It was either Brian or no one, for Lindsay. I decided that I could live with that sacrifice—though I'm beginning to think  _that_  was a mistake. Why do you ask?"

I sighed. "I just don't understand him, sometimes."

"It's simple," Melanie said with another snort. "He's an asshole. He's not worth your time, Justin. You and your son can do a lot better."

That wasn't true at  _all_. But I released my reflexive irritation in a silent breath, and thanked her for answering my question before I said goodbye.

But if Brian was truly the monster that Melanie thought he was—would she really have agreed to let him father her child? Would she have let her own desire for a baby override the future wellbeing of said baby? That couldn't be true. Somewhere inside of her, Melanie knew that Brian was a good man.

And Brian  _was_  a good man. He was the only person I even remotely trusted, and I was taking a leap of faith on him. He  _had_  to be a good man.

 

The following day I got home from school to find Vic on his way out to buy groceries. I'd no sooner gotten Luke upstairs and my study materials sprawled across my bed than the sound of the phone ringing reached my ears. I groaned in frustration.

I made it downstairs in time to hear the answering machine pick up.

"Hey, Ma!"

Oh.

I stopped at the bottom step, Luke on my hip, and suddenly felt absolutely no motivation to pick up the phone.

I let the answering machine play, turning around.

"Call me back when you get the chance—you wouldn't believe the shit that Brian's gotten himself into this time. He's finally getting what he deserves, the asshole. Oh, and I wanted to let you know that the Big Q's having a sale on pasta, if you need any for that PFLAG spaghetti dinner. Love you, Ma!"

I was frozen on the steps.

Brian was in trouble?

The answering machine clicked off, and I slowly walked over to the phone. I debated for a moment, and then set Luke on the ground and dialed Brian's cell phone number.

Had he gotten hurt? What if he was positive? What if something had happened to his family, to Gus?

"Kinney," Brian growled, after three rings.

"It's Justin," I said. My heart was pounding slightly too fast. "I—is everything okay? Michael just left a really weird message on the answering machine, and I—"

Brian made a little humorless humming noise. "He was gloating, wasn't he?"

So something  _was_  wrong.

"What happened?" I asked. "Is everyone okay? Are you okay?"

A humorless laugh, this time. "I'm being sued. For sexual harassment."

I almost dropped the phone. " _You?_  But… why? Why would you need to?"

"I didn't," Brian snapped. "Christ! I fucked some junior ad-exec and I wouldn't promote him afterwards. And now he's suing me. End of story."

"Well—well, he's lying," I said stupidly.

"You were hoping for… what, on your SATs, again? 900?"

"Fuck you," I snapped, but then I caught myself.

Brian was probably really freaking out. I shouldn't lose my temper.

"Is it serious?" I asked, my voice much more calm.

"It's a sexual harassment lawsuit. Of course it's serious. Do you know what this could do to my reputation? My client list?"

"I…" I struggled for something to say. "Was it that guy you had over Saturday night? For business?"

"Yep," Brian said, popping the P. "Good ole Kip."

I frowned, wanting to do something to make it better for him. God. What must it feel like to be sued for something you didn't do? More importantly, what must it feel like to be sued by someone with a dog's name?

"Does Lindsay know?" I asked, hoping that I could get Brian to go and see her and Gus instead of going out and drinking himself into oblivion like he was probably planning to do tonight. Mikey was clearly not going to be there for him, but Lindsay… She could help.

But Brian let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, yeah. She's already told me how I should have known that something like this would happen to me, one day."

No Lindsay. No Mikey.

"I'm coming over," I declared.

" _You_  are going to stay home and study for your final exams."

"I'll bring my homework—you can help me study."

"Only if you need help studying anatomy."

I rolled me eyes. "I'm coming over, at least for a few hours. You can still go out to Woody's later, if you want."

"Whatever," Brian said. "You'd better come ready to get fucked."

And he hung up.

Babbling suddenly registered in my ears, and I looked down to see Luke coasting around the coffee table.

Right. Vic was at the grocery store.

I guess Brian wouldn't be getting quite the quality time with me that he'd wanted.

 

"Fuck," Brian said, upon seeing Luke. Or rather, the bundled, blanketed twitching thing in the baby carrier.

I don't know why I was surprised to see that he was naked.

"I told you to come ready to fuck, not to bring the fucking kid," Brian snapped, hand on the door like he was about to slam it shut on me. Which, actually, he might.

"Give it four hours, when he's asleep for the night," I said quickly. "Three, if we wear him out."

"If you think I'm letting you stay for four hours…" Brian grouched, but he stepped back to let me inside. "I thought Vic was your personal, live-in babysitter? And Jesus  _Christ_ , what the fuck is in your backpack, a microwave?"

"Textbooks," I answered.

"Excuse me? I said 'if you insist on coming over, plan on me fucking the shit out of you'. Tell me, where in that series of words did you manage to end up with 'I'll babysit your kid while you do your homework'?" Brian demanded, following me over to the couch, where I set down Luke's carrier, then the diaper bag, and then finally, my enormous backpack.

"I can watch Luke and study at the same time," I told him firmly.

"But you can't wear him out while you study," Brian said.

"Well, then, you'll have to do it," I replied pleasantly. I pulled the blanket off of Luke and then undid the buckles, which he'd been pushing at.

"No fucking way," Brian said flatly. "Go back home. I'm not babysitting."

I glanced at him. "Go put some clothes on."

"I mean it, Justin."

Yeah, right.

I spared him an unimpressed look before I started peeling off Luke's winter clothing.

I could practically hear Brian's teeth grinding. He wanted to throw a tantrum, probably scream at me and maybe even kick a few things around, but he wouldn't with the baby around. He did have some modicum of decency in him.

Luke was deposited on the floor, and he sat there, staring around the new place with interest.

I smirked when Brian finally stomped off to put clothes on.

I was  _so_  onto him.

 

Brian sulked for about fifteen minutes, but he was eventually unable to hold back a snarky comment.

"Doesn't take much to amuse him, does it?" Brian asked, eying Luke with distaste from behind the sofa.

Luke had, for whatever reason, been taking things in and out of the diaper bag. Mostly out. But currently, he was currently pushing a bib back inside.

"Nope," I replied, grinning up at him from my spot on the sofa. "Be grateful. He could be pulling your CDs off the rack and banging them on your beautiful hardwood floors. Or drooling on your Italian sofa."

Brian's eyes widened. "If he drools on that sofa—"

"Oh, like you haven't had worse cleaned out of it," I interrupted, rolling my eyes.

Brian exhaled and rocked on his feet a little.

I frowned. "What, are you  _bored?_ "

"Well, since you cancelled my plans for the night…"

"Don't you have work to do?" I asked.

Brian scowled at me, bracing his hands on the back of the sofa and leaning close. "I've been asked to take a little vacation from work. So no, I don't have any work to do."

"Fuck, are you serious?" I demanded, sitting up straighter. "That's not fair!"

"As comforting as that is," Brian said, making his way around the sofa and flopping down next to me, "recognizing the injustice of it all doesn't do much in the way of entertaining me."

"You should get a hobby," I said seriously.

Brian smirked, tongue in cheek. "I have several."

"Hobbies that can be pursued outside of Babylon," I elaborated.

"I pursue men outside of Babylon all the time."

"Lot of good that does you, now."

I went back to my reading. Biology. I only had three more chapters to review.

Brian exhaled and shifted, folding his arms over his chest.

"Want to help me study?" I asked.

"What I  _want_  is to fuck someone and get high," Brian retorted.

I gestured toward Luke. "Wear him out. If you're really good, you'll get him to sleep by seven-thirty."

"I'm ordering dinner," Brian abruptly announced, standing.

He stalked off to order, but several minutes later, yanked on my hair and asked whether I wanted spring rolls or egg rolls.

 

"Dishtowels? You want to tie him up with  _dishtowels?_ "

"Well, I'm not using my Armani ties. I think I have actual bedroom rope in the—"

"Christ, Brian, I'll just hold him."

 

"Mel and Lindz split yesterday," Brian said out of the blue.

I almost spat out my noodles. " _What?_ "

"Seems Melanie got a whiff of someone else's lady juices, and had to have a taste."

"Eugh! Brian!"

"What? Like you haven't seen pussy before."

"I didn't have my  _tongue_  in it," I said indignantly. "That's disgusting. Ugh."

Brian smirked, and took a bite of vegetable fried rice.

On my lap, Luke was mashing a piece of bread in his mouth. His technique involved sucking on it until it became too soggy, and finally broke off into a bite-sized piece.

I had to admit, I was surprised that Brian had gotten Chinese food. It was some of the most unhealthy takeout there was, and given the way he usually ate (more accurately, the way he didn't eat), I had expected him to order from some place that at least had salads.

"That explains why Lindsay's looking for a job, at least," I said thoughtfully.

Brian frowned. "How the hell did you know that?"

"They need me to babysit on Friday," I said. "Melanie's got to work that afternoon."

"No kidding." Brian stabbed a piece of broccoli. "That's when the secondary hearing is, for the lawsuit."

My eyes widened. "Melanie's representing you?"

"You can't do much better than a bull-dyke lawyer," Brian said with a shrug.

I knew it. I  _knew_  it! There was no way Melanie didn't actually know that Brian was a good man—if she truly thought he was an asshole, she'd have never allowed him to father her child, and she definitely wouldn't be trying to save his ass right now.

"So when's the primary hearing?" I asked.

Brian narrowed his eyes. "Don't get ideas."

I raised the hand that wasn't holding Luke in defense. "I won't show up and defend your honor. I promise."

Brian checked my other hand, and then glanced under the table at my feet.

"Honestly!" I said indignantly. "C'mon, Brian. Where is the  _trust?_ "

Brian smirked. "The primary hearing," he relented, "is Thursday night."

"My finals are done that morning! I could…" I trailed off quickly at his expression. "Uh. I'll pray for you?"

"Save it for the kids in Sudan. I'm gonna be fine," Brian said dismissively.

But he was worried. If he wasn't, he would have kicked me out ages ago.

 

Almost an hour later, the sound of Luke's giggling broke me out of my studying. I looked up to see Brian sitting on the sofa, one end of a piece of string in his hands, reeling in… Luke's stuffed hippo. Luke was crawling after it, and Brian was careful to keep it just out of his reach.

I stared.

Finally, I managed words. "Brian, are you  _fishing_  for my son?"

Brian turned to me, grinning, and pulled the hippo up into his hand. Luke watched him, green eyes wide, and rotated his head as the hippo went sailing a good twenty feet away from the sofa.

He took off, crawling as fast as he could.

"Well, it'll wear him out," I commented.

Brian's grin turned devilish. "That was the idea."

 

It was seven-fifteen when Luke practically dropped dead.

When Brian set his mind to something, he never did it half-assed. Even if it had involved getting a baby to chase after a stuffed hippo on a string for thirty minutes.

"Hurry the fuck up," Brian growled, as I settled Luke carefully into his carrier. He was practically pacing.

"Almost done," I promised. "But I think I have to pee, actu—"

"Hold it," Brian ordered, seizing me around the middle and hauling me off to the bedroom before I could get in another word.

 

Despite my constant irritation with Brian's bitching about how tiny my bed at Debbie's was, I had to admit that Brian's comparatively enormous bed did make things… easier. It allowed us to do a wide variety of interesting things, that was for certain. But it also, to my private disappointment, meant that afterward there was no need to sprawl out on top of each other. And even though that was kind of nice when we finished and I was unbearably hot and sweaty, I missed Brian's weight on top of me anyway.

But we flopped down on the bed, breathless, and I lay alone on my half of the bed. Brian, feet away from me, lay panting and alone on his side of the bed.

I waited until I'd cooled down somewhat and was breathing normally again, and I scooted over to him.

Brian shoved my arms off twice before finally giving up and letting me cuddle close.

I smiled to myself, pleased.

"Justin," Brian said suddenly, his voice abruptly rough.

I looked up, my smile vanishing.

"You need to go," he said. He pushed me away and sat up. "Now."

I stared at him in shock. He was kicking me out now? After everything that I'd done for him tonight, he was kicking me out like I was just another one of his tricks?

But then I saw his fingers twitching. His eyes shifting, almost wild.

I sat up and reached for him. "Brian—"

"Don't," Brian snapped, pushing himself off the bed. "Just fucking _don't_. I'm going to get high. I'm going to get drunk. I'm going to go to Babylon and get my dick sucked, and then I'm going to bring a trick home. If you don't want Luke exposed to that, then you need to leave. Now."

I swallowed and got off the bed.

 

Pam had left a message on the answering machine by the time I got home from school the next day, as had my mother. I deleted my mother's message and dialed Pam's number from memory (it was in the shape of a big X).

"Oh, good," she said, when I identified myself. "I've been trying to get a hold of you. I got your message yesterday morning—you said you had a guardian picked out?"

"Yeah," I said. "Um. He's… I haven't been able to ask him yet. He's been busy."

"Well, try to talk to him soon, all right? It's not good to leave things suspended like this for so long."

"What's involved in transferring the guardianship?" I asked.

"Oh, we just meet and the guardian will sign some paperwork," Pam said. "You're very lucky this isn't a custodial arrangement—he would've had to have gotten court approval, and that can take a while."

That didn't sound too bad. If only Brian weren't in the middle of a freaking sexual harassment lawsuit and I could just  _ask_  him...

"I'll talk to him soon," I promised.

"Good," Pam said. "Let's try to get this whole thing wrapped up before Christmas, shall we? Oh! And I meant to give you the number for the executor of Mr. Anderson's will—it's around here somewhere, give me a minute… You'll want to talk to him about an estate sale and selling the house, if you want to do that."

I scrambled for pen and paper.

Pam gave me his name and number, and then we said goodbye and hung up.

"You gonna call your mother?" Vic asked from the couch, as I set the phone back on its cradle.

At my feet, Luke was chewing on the leg of his stuffed hippo. But when I turned and started walking toward the living room, Luke dropped the hippo and let out an urgent "Dada!"

"What?" I asked, turning back to him. To Vic, I said, "I wasn't planning to call her, no. Why?"

Vic shrugged. "She sounded worried about you, is all."

Luke stuck the hippo up in the air, waving it at me.

"For me?" I asked, bending over and holding out a hand.

"Buh," Luke said, continuing to wave the hippo at me.

I took it from him. "Thank you, Luke."

I turned around to go to the living room again, but he cried out again. "Dada!"

Slightly exasperated, I turned around and saw him sitting there, arms reaching upwards.

"Up?" I asked him. "You want me to hold you  _and_  the hippo?"

"Buh," Luke repeated. "Buh, buh, buh!"

Rolling my eyes, I obliged and picked him up, which made him laugh and bang his head against my arm. Weirdo.

As I turned around, I caught sight of Vic and remembered that he wanted me to call Mom.

"If she was really worried, she'd do something about it," I explained casually. "But it's my mother, and she never does anything unless my dad tells her to or she thinks I'm dead. She won't come see me. She'll just call until she gives up."

Vic shrugged. "You've got every right to be mad at her, Justin. I'm just letting you know."

I sighed. "Yeah, well, I've got more important things to deal with at the moment."

 

The baby monitor set that Brian had gotten me, so that I would stop freaking out about leaving Luke alone when he came over to fuck me, was actually dead useful. In retrospect, I remembered Sara having one, but it had never occurred to me until Brian had presented to box to me. Luke had always slept in the same room as me ever since he'd come to live with me in September—which was probably not healthy, given how protective I'd become of him and how most babies were sleeping in their own rooms at this point in their life. The baby monitor was a nice compromise, though.

For instance, it allowed me to be downstairs studying now, at one o'clock in the morning, without worrying that Luke would wake up and start crying and I wouldn't hear him. And it turned out that me being downstairs also allowed me to pick up the phone when Brian called that night—morning—whatever.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when the phone rang, and I dove for it before the ringing woke someone up.

"Novotny residence, this is Justin," I answered quietly, my other ear piqued for Luke-like sounds coming from the baby monitor.

"Justin."

I blinked. "Brian?"

"Smart boy," Brian said fondly. "Did I interrupt your studying?"

"Yes," I said slowly. "Brian, it's one in the morning."

"And  _you're_ late for class."

"What?"

"You're late for class. Orgy 101, with Professor Kinney. It's a very important lesson, tonight. You can't miss it."

"Are you drunk?" I asked incredulously.

"I picked them just for you," Brian sing-songed. "All the ones you like. You have good taste in men, Sunshine."

This was… weird. Really weird. Brian Kinney did not drunk-dial people—he was never that out of control. And definitely, Brian Kinney did not drunk-dial irritating little blond twinks named Justin Taylor. If anyone, he would have drunk-dialed Michael.

Right.

Michael.

"Brian, did you talk to Michael tonight?" I asked.

"…no," came Brian's sullen reply.

Yeah, that was convincing.

"Brian…"

"Why would I talk to Mikey?" Brian asked irritably. "He hates me. If I did call him, he'd probably just hang up on me—and he'd be right." He let out a bitter laugh. "Hell, Sunshine, he was right. I should have seen this coming. Good ole dumb Mikey, actually right..."

"There's no way you could have seen this coming," I protested. "You don't deserve this. You're innocent!"

"Ah, but then why did they ask me to stay home?" Brian asked. "That's the tick of it. If I was innocent, they would have let me stay. I'm guilty until proven innocent."

"Well screw them," I said instantly. "Screw them! Isn't that what you always tell me? I know you're innocent. The people that matter know you're innocent."

"Who, my  _family?_ " Brian sneered.

"Yes! Me, Debbie and Vic, Melanie… Lindsay. Even Michael knows you're innocent, he's just too petty to stop—"

"Don't fucking talk about him," Brian snarled. "Don't you fucking—he's just—he's… Fuck!"

"You're going to be fine," I said, trying to make it sound more like a command than a platitude. I wished that I could be there to hug him, shove him onto the bed and let him fuck the shit out of me, to give him that little bit of control back in his life. "You're innocent, Brian. They can't condemn you for something you didn't do."

"The most important people aren't your family," Brian said. "You should learn this, Justin, you really should. Family—fuck family. The only important people are the judge and the jury."

I sighed.

"So are you coming over or not?" Brian asked, abruptly business-like.

"I can't," I said, though it killed me to say so. "I have final exams tomorrow, and I can't just leave Luke alone."

"Smart boy," Brian said fondly, again. "I knew you wouldn't come."

I blinked. "You just asked me to come over."

"And you made a sensible, responsible decision to stay home. But don't you ever wonder what you're missing? All the sucking, the men, the drugs, the music, the dancing… Don't tell me you don't wonder. You're a seventeen-year-old gay boy. It's your fucking birthright."

I bit down my frustration, because  _yes_  I wanted that. I missed that freedom, the luxury of only worrying about what I wanted.

"It doesn't matter what I wonder," I said, fighting to keep my voice even. "I fucked up a year and a half ago, and now I have to deal with the responsibility that came with that. I owe it to Luke."

"Right answer again," Brian said approvingly.

"What, you wanted me to say no?" I asked incredulously, now both confused and irritated. "You  _want_  me to be responsible?"

"What I want is for you to come over and enjoy this orgy. I made it special for you."

"Maybe another night," I promised, sighing.

"Okay," Brian said agreeably. "By the way, you passed the test. Fly colors."

"What test?" I asked. "The test of my ability to say no to you? My maturity? Responsibility?"

"No, the test from last week. On butt plugs. But don't worry, I'll let you have a makeup test for the orgy lesson. You can do it next week—it's going to be  _longer_  and  _harder_  than tonight's, though. I don't want to cut you any breaks."

I sighed. "Right. I'll be sure to study extra hard for it."

"And extra long," Brian added, and I could just  _see_ his tongue going into his cheek.

"Mm-hm. I've got to get back to studying—have fun at your orgy, okay?"

"Oh, I will. Night, Sunshine."

Brian tended to call me 'Sunshine' a lot when he was drunk.

I stood next to the phone for a moment after I hung up, wasting valuable study time, until I made a snap decision that I knew I was going to regret in the morning and grabbed Debbie's kitten-faced phone book off the counter.

Moments later, I was listening to the sound of ringing on the other end of the line.

"Wazzat?"

"Hi, Michael," I said, speaking as loudly as I dared. "It's Justin. I hope I didn't wake you up."

"What… Justin? It's one-thirty in the fucking morning, what the fuck?" Michael hissed.

"Brian just called me," I said quickly, before Michael just flat hung up on me.

"Oh, you too?" Michael snorted.

"Michael, he needs you," I said desperately. I didn't have a plan, or any clear arguments to make, other than that Brian was a mess and Michael needed to get his head out of his ass and help his best friend out. "He misses you."

"You woke me up at this hour to tell me  _that?_ " Michael asked crankily. I could hear him shifting, getting out of bed. "He's pathetic. I know. You deal with him, you're the one who wants him."

"But you're the one  _he_  really wants," I argued.

"He's never wanted me. It took me fourteen years to realize that, and I'm done," Michael snapped.

I gritted my teeth. "Don't you get it? He shoved you off of a cliff so that you'd be able to have a functional relationship with David!"

"What—cliffs? Functional—" Michael spluttered. "Justin, it's one-thirty in the fucking morning, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about—"

"Brian knew that as long as you were still in love with him, you'd never be able to move on," I said furiously. "He outed you to that girl because he knew you'd never forgive him, and he knew that it was the only way to get you to stop  _waiting_  for him. You should be thanking him!"

"What do you know?" Michael demanded. "You, some stupid little trick that wouldn't leave, you and your stupid kid, you don't know anything!"

My  _stupid kid?_

"Fuck you," I snarled. "It's no wonder Brian wouldn't fuck you—you don't deserve him, not even for a night. The tricks he picks up at  _Babylon_  are more worthy of him."

Michael spluttered something else, but I hung up before I could listen to it.

Fuck him.

I stalked back over to the couch, slammed my bio textbook shut, and decided that I was done studying for the night. Michael could go fuck himself. Now I was going to have to find a way to pull Brian through this lawsuit, since all anyone else seemed to be doing was laughing at him and enjoying the show. He needed to make it through this, both because I loved him and because I needed him to sign those guardianship papers. And on top of that, I had to apply to college, deal with Cal's estate, convince my mother to fuck off once and for all, and raise my son.

Unsurprisingly, sleep did not come quickly that night.

 

The next day was Thursday, which meant the end of finals and the start of Christmas vacation—Daphne and I both had biology as our last final, and she managed to convince me to go Christmas shopping after we got out. We stopped by Debbie's so that I could pick up the money I'd earned in tips during my first shift at the diner and, after a brief discussion, Luke as well (I didn't want him to see any presents before Christmas morning, but Daphne pointed out that Luke had the memory of a goldfish at this point, and would still be properly surprised come Christmas morning).

Unfortunately, upon arriving at the house, I discovered that Michael was there, and boy, was he unhappy with me.

"You!" he cried, whirling on me. He glanced at Debbie. "You know he called me at one-thirty in the fucking morning last night?"

Oh, sure. Go tattle to your mommy, Michael. That's real mature.

"Well, I'm sure he had a good reason," Debbie said certainly.

Luke came crawling around the couch, making a beeline toward me and chanting my name.

"Hey, dude," I said with a grin, scooping him up and kissing the top of his head. "Did you miss your daddy?"

"He just called to talk about Brian," Michael said, giving me a dirty look. "Like he's not getting what he deserves, anyway."

Debbie whacked Michael on the back of head, and promptly ignored his yelp of surprise. "You little asshole! I know you're mad at Brian, but that does  _not_  mean that he deserves to lose his job! Brian wouldn't be dancing circles around you if it were  _you_  in danger of losing your job, would he?"

Michael rubbed at the back of his head. "I wouldn't have fucked around at work in the first place! He should know better."

"Yes, he should, but that isn't the point, you little shit—"

I herded Daphne upstairs as Debbie ranted on, eager to get out of there before Debbie started on me about how I had more important things to be doing than worrying about "that asshole".

 

"Daph, why are we on Liberty Avenue?" I asked, shifting the blanket over Luke and tucking one of the corners back in. The sidewalks hadn't been entirely cleared of snow, and we were trooping over an inch of snow that had been almost packed into ice.

"I told you," she said impatiently, "I found the perfect store to buy my Christmas presents for Luke."

"He's a little young for a dildo, don't you think?" I asked, as we passed our fifth sex shop. I didn't know where the revenue came from to support them all. There couldn't be  _that_  many queers in Pittsburgh buying sex toys… could there?

Daphne giggled. "I'm not getting him a dildo, doofus. It's just up here—I saw it a few weeks ago…"

It turned out that Daphne had found—I didn't know how I'd missed it during all of my trips to Liberty Avenue—a gay baby boutique. They had normal baby things, too, but a hefty majority of their clothes, bibs and blankets bore phrases like "I LOVE MY DADDIES" and "They're raising me gay". Almost everything seemed to have a rainbow on it.

"You're shitting me," I said, when Daphne held up a baby bottle shaped like a penis. "There is no way I'm putting that in my son's mouth."

Daphne shrugged. "His loss."

"Please don't get anything with 'daddies' on it," I said, as she moved on to the bibs. "Brian would think I was talking about him. He'd have a shit-fit."

"What about 'I support gay adoption'?" Daphne asked, fingering a blue bib.

"Luke isn't adopted," I pointed out. I switched the hand I was using to hold his carrier, and Luke giggled as he was swung in a semi-circle.

"Well, he can still support it on principle, can't he?"

"No gay adoption," I said firmly.

Daphne sighed, but moved on. "Ooo! What about this one? 'Jesus killed my gay baby whale'!"

I eyed it contemplatively. "I might be able to live with that one."

Daphne grinned.

I rolled my eyes, and turned my gaze to the window for a moment.

And that was when I saw him.

Kip Thomas. The asshole was walking past the store in a suit, briefcase in hand.

My mind flashed and suddenly it was last night and Brian was unraveling over the phone, swinging wildly between anger and excitement and lust—I was the only one on his side. I was the only one who could help him.

Immediately, a plan snapped together in my mind.

Kip was gay. I was hot. Age of consent was sixteen, but most people thought it was eighteen.

"Justin?" Daphne asked, poking me in the shoulder.

I lifted my arm to hand Luke's carrier over—

 _Luke_.

Reality came crashing down.

There was no way I could go through with my plan. It was too crazy. There were too many risks, and I had to put Luke first. Luke came before Brian.

Fuck.

"I'm fine," I said, tightening my grip on Luke's carrier. "I think Luke's getting tired of being strapped in, though. I'm going to go sit down and hold him for a bit, all right?"

"Sure," Daphne agreed. "Then you won't see what I get him!"

I spared one more glance at the window, exhaled, and pushed last night's conversation with Brian out of my head.

Whatever, trouble Brian was in, I had to think about Luke. Luke had to come first.


	15. Howl

**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 15: Howl**

That night was the night of Brian's primary hearing.

There was, of course, no word from him the entire night on how it had went, and I got his voicemail when I tried to call his cell phone. Debbie pointed out, repeatedly, that I had more important things to worry about right now, and reluctantly, I agreed to wait until morning when I could ask Melanie how things had gone.

Luke went down easily despite the fact that it was bath night, and I sketched for a few hours before going to bed. Despite my worries about Brian, I went down almost as fast as Luke had.

 

I arrived at Melanie and Lindsay's place ten minutes early. (Was it still technically their place? Brian had said that they'd split, but he hadn't given any details about the physical arrangements that had been made…)

"How did the hearing go?" I asked, as soon as Melanie had let me in the door.

Melanie looked grim. "Not well. Things are looking pretty bad, right now."

Fuck.

"We're hoping for more of an upswing at today's hearing," Melanie said. "And we've got tomorrow's hearing, too."

"There's a third one?" I asked, startled. "On a Saturday?"

Melanie nodded. "Yep. Two to four, and then closing arguments at seven. We get a verdict on Monday afternoon."

I bit my lip and peeled the blanket off of Luke's carrier. He was still sleeping—as was Gus, I assumed, given the silence—and probably wouldn't wake up for another twenty minutes.

"Is there a chance he'll come out okay? Is it completely hopeless?" I asked, a little more despair in my voice than I was comfortable hearing.

Despite my resolve, there was still a niggling doubt that I should have gone after Kip yesterday. I could have put this all to an end yesterday and I hadn't, and if Brian went down for this because I hadn't been prepared to risk Luke…

Christ. What was I saying? I couldn't risk Luke. I couldn't risk him for anything.

"It's not completely hopeless," Melanie answered, but her grim expression didn't change. "But there's a good chance that Thomas is going to get some kind of settlement out of this, and Brian'll get a big heavy black mark on his record. It won't be the end of the world. He won't lose his job or anything."

"But there's no way he'll be made partner if that happens," I protested. "You know that's all he wants!"

Melanie's mouth went into a thin line. "Yeah, well, the asshole should have thought about that before he went and fucked Thomas across his desk."

"You have to win," I said urgently. "You have to. If he loses this lawsuit…"

Melanie offered me a half-smile, reaching for her coat. "I'm doing my absolute best for him. I can't promise anything more."

I held in a sigh.

"Okay," Melanie said as she shrugged on her coat. "Gus should be awake before noon. His lunch is sitting out on the counter—you remember where everything is from last time. Help yourself to TV, food, whatever. Gus eats dinner around five—he's been eating like a garbage disposal ever since we started introducing solids, so don't hold back. Emergency numbers are on the fridge. Any questions?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Sounds good."

Melanie left.

Unfortunately, her slamming the door woke Luke up with a start. Fortunately, his initial reaction was to look around curiously, not to start screaming, and even more fortunately, the slamming of the door did not wake Gus. Or at least, there was no noise coming from upstairs. Just to check, I unbuckled Luke from his carrier, took off his winter garb, and carried him up to Gus' room.

Luke had been rather adorably fascinated by Gus the last time I'd babysat for Melanie and Lindsay. Gus hadn't really cared one way or the other, but Luke had followed him around for hours, babbling at him and grabbing him when I wasn't fast enough to pull his hands back. Catching sight of the baby in the crib now produced an excited string of syllables, but I quickly shushed him and hurried out of the room after determining that Gus was still asleep. Four-month-olds were cranky little things—no need to cut his nap short and piss him off even more.

Downstairs, I busied myself with Luke and the crayon I'd been trying to get him to take an interest in last night. I'd read in one of my baby books that one of the things an eleven-month-old might be able to do was scribble with a crayon, and though Luke wasn't quite eleven months old, I was intensely eager for him to learn to color. Fatherly pride, or some shit like that.

Luke was really more interested in eating the thing.

"Look," I told him patiently, moving his hand over the sheet of white computer paper and trying to get him to notice the blue streaks he was creating with my help. "Look at the pretty colors. See, we can make lines and circles… smiley faces…"

He really wasn't having it.

Luckily for Luke the phone rang just then, and I had to dive for it before it woke Gus.

"Peterson-Marcus residence," I answered breathlessly.

"Justin," Melanie's voice came over the line. "I want you to look on the dining room table for me—did I leave a stack of files there?"

"Uh…" I poked my head into the dining room. "Yep. There's three manila folders."

"Shit," Melanie swore.

"I can drive them up to your—oh, no, I've only got one car seat," I realized. "Shit. I guess I can't."

"No, no, it's okay. The roads are really bad today, anyway," Melanie said, half to herself. "I think I should be fine. Can you read me the names on the files? I'm pretty sure I don't need them until this afternoon…"

I had been heading back into the living room, where Luke was attempting to get himself down from the couch.

"Hang on," I said, as I scooped him up before he crawled right off. "I don't think so, buddy."

"Shit. I'm gonna have to cancel that lunch meeting with Harris, and he'll want to reschedule on Monday, I was supposed to watch Gus…" Melanie was definitely muttering to herself now, and probably consulting her planner.

I hurried into the dining room, Luke on my hip. "Okay. There's… Pollack, Omatete, and Kinney."

Kinney.

My eyes froze on the file, but Melanie was talking again.

"All right," she sighed. "I'll be there in about an hour and a half to pick them up. Thanks so much, Justin."

"Yeah," I said vaguely.

She hung up.

Slowly, I set the phone down on the table, my hand moving to the file labeled 'Kinney' in tight, blocked letters.

I opened the folder and sat down in the chair, letting Luke down on the ground.

Brian was losing this lawsuit. He was going to lose this lawsuit, and I didn't know what would happen after that. He was hurting without Michael. If he lost his best friend and his chance at becoming partner… And I could have done something to prevent it? How could I live with myself? How could I claim to  _love_  Brian if I wouldn't truly do anything for him?

But there was Luke. And Luke came before Brian.

Brian needed me now.

But Luke needed me now, and every minute of every day that would follow for the next seventeen years.

And Brian wouldn't even  _want_  my help, the stubborn bastard. He'd be so pissed if he knew I was even thinking about it.

But…

I stared down at Luke, who had pulled himself up using the chair next to me and was slapping the fabric on the seat of the chair.

A plan had already formed in my head and I had been helpless to stop it, my brain leaps and bounds ahead of my rationality. It was in my head, so clear and so clean and… and it would work… it would save Brian… I…

"Fuck it," I muttered, grabbing the phone.

I flipped through pages and pages of Melanie's notes until I started hitting printed documents, until finally, about half-way through, there was something with Kip Thomas' contact information.

"Gotcha," I breathed, turning on the phone and punching in his phone number (which was shaped like a rhombus, incidentally). Kip Thomas was going down, he was going down, he was going—

"Da?"

I froze, my finger paused over the 'Call' button.

Little hands grasped at my thigh, and I looked down to see Luke staring right back up at me, eyes wide.

"Fuck," I swore.

"Buh?" Luke asked, raising his arms up to me.

"Fuck," I said again, setting the phone down. I leaned over and swung Luke up onto my lap obligingly. "All right. You win. You saved Daddy from doing something stupid again."

At that moment, apparently, both babies in the house decided to conspire against my plan to help Brian, because the sound of Gus wailing from upstairs suddenly drifted into the dining room. I heaved a sigh, shut the folder, and went to go see what was wrong with Gus.

 

Lindsay got back a bit late, and I barely had enough time to run back to the house to drop Luke off and hear that Pam had left me a message before I had to run out for my shift at the diner. Between the cash I'd made babysitting Gus and the tips I was going to make tonight, I had serious plans to go shopping tomorrow.

It was the first time I'd worked with Debbie at the diner, and that was… an experience. I liked it, really. Debbie was completely at home in the middle of the Friday night rush, and even though I started flagging around nine, she kept me going like a slave driver. I found my respect for her multiplying into something like reverence by the time ten o'clock rolled around.

"C'mon, Sunshine," she said, snapping her fingers at me as I wiped another table off. "Table four needs water and table seven's out of ketchup. Let's go!"

"Right," I said, wondering when I had last sat down.

Debbie slapped my ass. "Hop-to. Three more hours!"

I held in a groan.

Debbie made to move away, but then she stopped and let out a cackle. "Oh," she added, leaning back in, "and when you get the chance, wait on that guy who just sat down at the counter."

I glanced at the bar miserably—then instantly brightened.

Brian!

Guilt descended as I remembered how I'd chickened out of calling Kip earlier today, but I shoved it away. Brian would be my bright spot of the night, regardless of his present situation and my struggle not to help him.

I finished wiping off the table, poured table four their water and grabbed a new bottle of ketchup for table seven, all in record timing, and then I bounced up to Brian.

"Hi!"

Brian's eyebrows rose. "So, they liked your references, then? Or was it your scintillating portfolio that really convinced them to give you the job?"

I lifted my chin. "They saw my resume and picked me. I got it on my own merit and that's all I care about."

"Christ," Brian muttered.

"I said wait on him, Sunshine, not take your break with him!" Debbie yelled from across the diner, making me start.

"What can I get you?" I asked quickly, pulling out my pad.

Brian gave me a half-hearted smirk. "My job back?"

I almost dropped my pen.

My next thought was  _Yes, I could. I didn't, though._

"You lost your job?" I asked, swallowing and trying to figure out if my voice sounded strange. "I—I thought you didn't get a verdict on the lawsuit until Monday. I just talked to Melanie this morning and she said—"

"Oh, don't be a princess," Brian interrupted, rolling his eyes. "I was kidding. I'm not going to lose my job. Just, you know, any shot I ever had at making partner. My client list. I'll probably be blacklisted for the next few years. Nothing life threatening."

He was trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"And Michael's still being a dick?" I asked, while desperately fighting back the urge to ask if there was anything that I could do. I knew that Brian had only to say the word, and I might not be able to hold myself back from helping any longer.

Brian's smile was wry. "Yep. Just like I wanted."

I hesitated. "…Lindsay?"

"Busy breaking up with Mel," Brian said, shrugging.

"I—" I stopped myself, but my mouth had opened and it had started to tumble out, I couldn't hold it in, I couldn't hold it back— "Is there anything I can do?"

Brian snorted. "You? My seventeen-year-old stalker?"

I bit my lip and shrugged.

"What could  _you_  do?" Brian asked derisively. "Get back to work. Go home to your kid, work on your little college applications with your little friends—that's what you can do."

"I—"

I wanted to yell, scream that I'd had plans, schemes that would have  _saved_  him that I'd passed up on because I'd chosen Luke over him—Brian was seeing me as some dumb kid, just like everyone did, just like he'd never done—even though I was so much more than that—and—and fuck him!  _Fuck you_ , I wanted to scream, and the effort of holding it in made tears prickle in my eyes.

My jaw set, teeth grinding together.

"Sunshine!" Debbie snapped. "Let's go! And get the mop out of the back—people keep tracking in snow."

"Coffee, black," Brian ordered.

"Coming right up," I ground out, before marching away.

 _Someone_  was getting jizz in his coffee.

 

Despite the jizz in his coffee, and the fact that he'd just been bitching about how he was soon going to be out of a job, Brian left me a ridiculously large tip. Asshole. Just when I was good and mad at him, he had to go and do something  _nice_.

So the following morning, after I finished my breakfast shift at the diner, I trooped out to complete my Christmas shopping for Luke and to pick up a few things for myself—namely, a new sketchpad and a few new pencils. But baby stuff ended up being more expensive than I'd thought, so I had to abandon my usual art supply shop and instead venture over to the Big Q. They didn't have as high quality pencils as I was used to, but they were three dollars cheaper, so I could live with it.

My luck being what it was, Michael was working. But because he apparently possessed a certain degree of professionalism while at work, he didn't so much as scowl at me. In return, I made my purchases as quickly as I could.

But it was as I was hustling out of the Big Q, Luke in his carrier hanging off of my arm as usual, that someone called my name.

"Hey! Taylor!"

My head whipped around, and I saw Chris Hobbs and getting out of a car parked several spots in front of mine.

"Oh, look, and it's little baby Taylor, too!"

Shit. Fuck. Balls.

I was going to have to pass him to get to my car. I was also pretty sure that Chris wouldn't do anything to hurt a baby—me, yes, but an innocent little baby? No way. So I might be safe.

"Is that what you've got under that blanket, Taylor?" Chris asked, meeting me halfway and stooping over the carrier. "The little faggot baby?"

"What's under the blanket is my son," I said with forced calm. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd just leave us alone."

Chris reached out for the blanket, but I jerked the carrier back, taking several steps away from him. Chris looked up at me with a sadistic grin.

"I just wanna see it. I wanna see what a little faggot baby looks like."

"Yeah, well, Google it," I snapped, my heart racing. I suddenly hated the carrier. I couldn't run, I couldn't hold Luke to my chest, I couldn't even see his face because of that damn blanket.

"Why don't you want me to see him?" Chris asked, advancing.

I walked backwards as he came forward, my footing awkward on the not-quite-icy parking lot. "Chris, please. He's just a baby. You can bully me all you want in school, but leave him alone."

"Bully?" Chris snorted, still advancing. "I don't bully you, I just give you what you're asking for. If you weren't such a little faggot all the time—"

I stumbled into the back of a car, and used my free hand to steady myself as I almost slipped.

"—maybe I'd leave you alone. So why don't you just show me the baby, Taylor?"

Chris had me against the car, standing less than two feet away from me, and I was stuck. I couldn't run. I couldn't lash out at him, because I didn't know what he would do if I provoked him. I couldn't cry for help, there wasn't anyone around.

My heart raced. My palms were sweaty, and all I could think was  _get out, get out, get out, get out…_

Chris smirked as he bent over the carrier, fingers reaching for the blanket as his face neared. "Now let's see the little faggot baby… Too bad I don't have a camera, I could have taken some pictures to show the—"

I rammed the edge of the carrier straight up into his nose.

"Mother _fuck!_ " Chris bellowed, hands flying to his nose as he doubled over.

Underneath the blanket, Luke had burst into tears, either from the sudden jolt or from Chris' yell. Either way, it wasn't my primary concern at the moment. I pushed myself off from the van and made for the car—

A hand seized my calf and my feet lost traction with the icy parking lot, and I fell face-first on the ground, Luke's carrier somehow landing upright but the arm that had been holding it slamming down painfully onto one of the plastic ridges.

"Motherfucking piece of shit!" Chris spat, as pain suddenly exploded in my side. "Fucking faggot!"

Oh, God.  _Luke_.

I reached a hand up to grab at the carrier, but mid-air Chris stomped it down to the ground, pinning it there and twisting my hand away from my arm.

"Aaugh!" I howled in pain, and I swung my body across the ground with all my might and drove my legs into Chris', kicking furiously at whatever I could make contact with. "Fuck off, get the fuck off of me, get  _off!_ "

Someone was yelling in the background.

My hand was released.

"Faggot," Chris snarled, driving another kick to my stomach.

Pain lanced through my torso and I curled into a fetal position before I registered the sound of footsteps. Footsteps running away. Chris was leaving.

"Hey!  _Hey!_  Get back here, you little punk!"

Michael.

Of course.

I heard the sound of a car starting, and wild thoughts about Chris running me over with his car suddenly spun into my head. I uncurled myself enough to grab Luke's carrier with my uninjured hand, pulling it toward me.

My stomach roiled and sharp pain shot up and down my abdomen, and I gritted my teeth. My hand was throbbing something awful. Luke was still bawling at the top of his lungs.

But the car was driving off in the opposite direction.

"Shit," I heard Michael mutter. "Shi—wait, Justin?"

I pushed myself up, not gasping in pain only with intense effort. The side of my face throbbed from where it had connected with the ice upon my fall to the ground, but I wasn't dizzy, and Chris had only gotten two or three kicks to my ribs so I could still breathe pretty well.

That  _fucker_. So much for not hurting an innocent little baby.

"Are you all right?" Michael asked, crouching down beside me as I used my good hand to peel back the blanket over Luke. "Who the hell was that? Did you know him?"

He seemed actually concerned, too.

"I'm okay," I said, swallowing as my stomach roiled again. I used my good hand, which was shaking violently with adrenaline, to unbuckle the straps holding Luke in, and I slid my arm underneath his body and picked him up with one arm, bringing him close to me. I practically crushed him against my chest.

"Are you sure?" Michael asked worriedly. "We've got a first-aid kit back in the store…"

I nodded, tipping my head forward to press a kiss to the top of Luke's head as he continued to wail, though with less vigor now. "I'll be okay. He didn't do too much damage."

Talking hurt. My left cheekbone had been slammed into the ground when I'd fallen, and it was started to throb vigorously as the adrenaline wore off.

"Who the fuck was he?" Michael demanded.

"Just a—" Luke kicked my stomach, and for one grey moment, I was sure I was going to vomit. But I swallowed and forced myself to plunge onward. "Just an asshole from school."

"I'm gonna call the cops," Michael muttered. "C'mon, let's get you inside. They'll wanna take your statement—"

I shook my head. "I'm fine. You don't have to call the cops or anything, I'm fine."

Michael frowned. "But—"

"Really," I interrupted. "I'm fine."

Lord, if there was one thing I did  _not_  want, it was for someone to call the fucking cops.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he pressed. "Let me at least call Ma and tell her to come pick you up."

"I can drive just fine," I said irritably.

Michael scowled at me. "Look, I'm only trying to help."

Luke had finally quieted down to snuffling, face buried into the V where my coat had come unzipped, exposing my hoodie underneath, and one mitten-covered hand trying unsuccessfully to latch onto the fabric of my coat.

"I appreciate it," I said, with forced calm. "But I'm fine. I'll drive home, take some pain meds, put Luke down for a nap, and spend the next few days looking like an abused little waif, and then I'll…"

I trailed off.

Another plan to save Brian had snapped itself together in my head, out of nowhere. I could—it was almost four—and I'd call Daphne—

"Justin?" Michael asked, frowning. "It's fucking cold out, can we at least go inside the store to talk about this?"

I swallowed. Brian's words from last night rang in my head.

" _What could_ you _do?"_  he'd snorted, so derisive and condescending and sure of himself.  _"What could_ you _do?"_

Well, fuck you, Brian.

 _Here's_  what I can do.

I raised my head and looked Michael in the eye. "Yeah, let's go inside. I need to borrow your cell phone for a few minutes."

 

Michael brought me to the break room, where three overweight women immediately descended upon Luke, cooing and making kissy noises. Even Michael looked revolted. Luke, though, was in heaven, giggling and waving at them from the safety of my arm (my left hand was completely out of commission—it was already starting to swell and darken). I had to put him back in his carrier when I went to use Michael's cell phone, but I stayed close so that he could keep me in sight.

"Chanders residence," Daphne answered sweetly.

"Hey," I said. "It's Justin. I need a few favors."

"Favors? What's in it for me?"

"Daphne, please," I said, my voice strained.

Daphne was immediately serious. "Justin, what's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"It's—it'll be fine," I said. "I need you to do two things for me. It's really important."

"Anything."

"I want you to look up the address attached to this phone number—are you ready?"

"Yeah, there's a pen here… Go."

I pictured the keypad of the phone in my head, saw the rhombus of Kip Thomas' phone number, and reeled it off for her.

"I'll look it up online, but you know we've got dial-up, so I'm gonna have to hang up…"

"That's fine," I said quickly. "The other thing is, can you watch Luke for an hour or two?"

"Now?" Daphne sounded startled.

"Yeah."

"Uh… Sure. But you know I've got my grandparents' anniversary party tonight."

"It shouldn't take that long. Thank you," I said, letting out a relieved sigh. "Can you come pick him up? I'm at the Big Q over on Chester."

"Yeah. Justin, what's going on?"

"I…"

I glanced over at Luke, who was being fawned over and loving every minute of it, and then to Michael, who was staring at me curiously, probably completely baffled by my end of the conversation.

"I'll explain later," I said finally.

If I tried to explain what the hell I was doing, I might realize how stupid it was and back out. But I couldn't back out. Not now. Not when I had the chance to fight for something, to make something in my life  _right_  again.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Daphne promised, after a pause.

I hung up and turned to Michael, handing his cell phone back. He handed me two little white pills.

"What is it?" I asked, poking one.

Michael looked at me incredulously. "What, you think I'm trying to drug you? It's Tylenol. Jesus."

I held them out. "I'm allergic to Tylenol. There isn't any ibuprofen, is there?"

"Oh," Michael said, having the grace to look slightly abashed. "No, this is all that was in the first aid kit. Sorry…"

"I've got Midol in my purse," one of the overweight women gathered around Luke offered.

"That's okay," I said. "Really. Thanks, though."

She shrugged and went back to cooing over Luke.

I sat back in my chair, closing my eyes.

 

Kip's apartment was located on top of a little sandwich bistro place. I got there a little after four, and after checking my face in the bathroom to ensure that my cheek hadn't started to bruise yet (it hadn't) and ordering an ice water that I kept against my throbbing left hand, I sat down at a table near the window and pretended to read the newspaper.

I lucked out when Kip actually walked into the bistro about fifteen minutes later. I'd been planning to corner him just outside his apartment and hope for the best, but this was even better.

He ordered a sandwich and stood around as it was made, browsing the selection of imported coffee beans and looking disgustingly cheerful as he did so. Clearly, the hearings had been going well for him, today.

I folded up my newspaper and stood, summoning every last reserve of strength I had. This was no time for nerves. This was no time for being a pussy about a little pain in my torso. It was action time.

Calm settled over me, and there was a faint ringing in my ears as I approached.

"Hey there," I said, leaning against the rack of coffees and keeping my bad hand carefully jammed into my coat pocket.

Kip looked up with an expression of mild surprise. "Can I help you?"

I grinned lazily, ignoring the throb of pain from my cheekbone. "I don't know, can you?"

"If you're gonna feed me lines like that, no, not really," Kip replied, returning to the coffees.

Shit.

"You know what shuts me up real good?" I asked, leaning in.

Kip glanced up. "A fifty?"

"A big, fat cock in my mouth," I said in a low voice, licking my lips. "Or a big, fat cock up my ass. Or my own big, fat cock in my mouth. Ever seen someone do that?"

Kip's eyebrows shot up at my words. "Well," he said, at length. "Aren't you the dirty one?"

I smirked. Slowly.

Kip exhaled. "Look, I don't have a lot of time, I've got to get back—"

"I can be quick," I promised, not letting my seductive tone drop. I took a step toward him, bringing my good hand up and tugging on the lapel of his suit, letting a little smile play at my lips. "C'mon. You got a car or something around here?"

Kip mentally debated for a few more minutes, and then his order was called.

"I live upstairs," he finally said, sighing. "But we've got to be quick. I've got a meeting at six."

Right. Closing arguments were at seven, but his lawyer probably wanted him there a little early.

Kip collected his sandwich and then led me out of the bistro, into the apartment building and up to his apartment.

"I'm gonna pop this into the fridge," Kip said, gesturing at the sandwich. "You can go…"

"Which way to the bedroom?" I asked.

He pointed, but then frowned at me. "You've got… there's something on your face."

I raised a hand to my left cheek, feeling the heated skin, and realized that the bruise must have started to show. Fuck.

"I'll see you there," I promised, before I sashayed down the hallway and into the bedroom.

My chest ached from the kick to the ribs every time I took in a breath, and my abdomen was still twinging painfully every time I moved. My hand throbbed like a bitch. It was taking effort to keep up this façade, and I knew that as soon as I got back to Debbie's, I was going to collapse on my bed and drown myself in painkillers. Everything hurt.

I kept the lights in the bedroom off, but because it was winter, the sun was setting at this point and casting the room in a red-gold glow.

Kip joined moments later.

I pulled my mask back together and moved toward him seductively, ignoring my pain.

"You're so hot," I murmured, using my good hand to guide his face to mine.

We kissed once, twice, three times, and I thought I was going to be sick. Eugh. His lips were thin and flappy, like a fish, and I couldn't stand the feeling. It was a relief when he started moving downward.

"Blow me," I whispered.

Kip slid a hand into the back of my pants, cupping my ass. "I thought you could suck yourself off?"

I smirked. "Oh, I can. But you've gotta take the edge off, first. I'm too fucking horny to last right now."

Apparently, that was agreeable, because he started undoing the button of my jeans.

I waited until he was down on his knees and just putting the head of my cock into his mouth to speak again.

"It's a curse of youth, I guess," I sighed, looking down and putting a hand in his hair. "They say you don't start gaining real endurance until you're at least nineteen."

Kip paused, looking up at me warily. "How old are you?"

I bit my lip. "If I tell you, you've gotta promise not to freak out, okay? The last guy really freaked out on me—he was paranoid about getting arrested for molestation and labeled as a sex offender for the rest of his life or some shit like that. I mean, jeeze, Dad beats up  _one guy_  on Liberty Avenue, and suddenly, no one wants to fuck you…"

Kip's eyes were wide.

"You promise not to freak?" I asked.

"Well—well, you're not going to tell anyone, are you?" Kip asked, sounding slightly nervous.

"Tell them what? That you molested me?" I asked.

Kip nodded.

I smiled down at him. "Of course not. But I'll tell them that you attacked and tried to rape me, if you don't do what I say."

Kip's mouth fell open.

I raised my shirt slowly, and sure enough, there were darkened patterns of bruising on my stomach and ribs. "These aren't even an hour old, yet. I've got your saliva on my dick. And everyone knows what sick perverts we faggots are."

"You little—"

Kip had started to stand, but I had a hand on the back of his head and I forced his face down as my knee shot up, and his nose slammed right into my kneecap.

He let out a howl of pain, hands flying to his face.

Two noses smashed in one day. I was starting to feel a little bit like a one-trick pony.

"Drop the lawsuit against Brian Kinney," I ordered, jumping back from him and yanking my pants up. "Drop it tonight, at the closing arguments, or I'll go to the police."

"You're here for  _Kinney?_ " Kip demanded, raising his head. Blood was streaming down his face.

I was panting, standing in the doorframe and ready to bolt. I had only to grab my coat off the kitchen table and I could be gone. I was high on adrenaline again. The pain was now barely there, just skirting on the edges of existence, and I was ready to fight. I was ready to  _win_.

"Drop the lawsuit," I repeated.

"Kinney's little bitch running errands," Kip spat, struggling to a standing position.

"Drop the lawsuit, you little lying sack of shit!" I yelled, backing out of the room before he got his bearings. "Drop it, or I swear to god, you're going to jail for ten years and you'll come out as a registered sex offender! Don't think I won't!"

"I can't just fucking drop it, it's not that simple!" Kip protested from the bedroom.

"Yes, it is."

"No it's not!"

"I'm going there," I said, grabbing my coat off the table. "I'm going to the police station right now, right  _fucking_  now, you hear?"

Kip stumbled out of the bedroom, one hand clutching his nose. "No! No, wait!"

I stopped.

"I'll drop the suit," Kip promised, eyes wide and panicked. "I'll drop it, the whole thing, but please don't go to the police. Please. I didn't  _do_  anything."

"Neither did Brian," I shot back.

"I'll drop the lawsuit tonight, at six, when I meet with my lawyer before the closing arguments—I swear, I promise!"

"I'll know if you don't," I said threateningly. "So you'd  _better_  fucking drop it. Otherwise, I'm going to the police. Tonight."

Kip nodded rapidly.

I looked at him with nothing short of disgust.

"You won't go to the police, will you?" Kip pleaded.

"I'm going to go home and wait," I said.

"Fuck," Kip breathed, slumping against the wall.

I slammed the door behind me.

 

I'm not quite sure how I made it home after that. I was on autopilot, my mind racing and the adrenaline still pumping through my body, and the only reason I didn't just sit in the driver's seat of the car and shake helplessly for fifteen minutes was because I needed to get the fuck away from Kip's apartment building. And then I got back to Debbie's house, and Daphne was there, and I couldn't freak out in front of her. I'd had a hard enough time convincing her I was fine when she'd seen me at the Big Q.

I sent Daphne home. I put Luke in his crib.

Alone on my bed, the door to my room shut even though Debbie and Vic were at that PFLAG spaghetti dinner for the night, I finally let myself begin to shake.

"I don't think there's permanent damage," I told Luke, who was poking at the bag of ice on my hand with interest. "Maybe a sprain and some really bad bruising. I think Debbie has an Ace bandage around here somewhere."

Luke looked up at me, his eyes meeting mine, and his face split into a grin.

I stuck out my tongue at him.

"Bye!" he said, giving me a one-handed wave.

"What, are you going somewhere?" I asked, amused.

"Bye-bye," Luke replied, bringing his hand back down to grip the couch.

I shifted slightly, wincing. "Because there's no way Daddy's going anywhere for a while… Fuck. Fucking Chris Hobbs."

I was sprawled out on the couch, recovering from the ordeal of only being able to handle Luke with one arm and waiting for the four ibuprofen I'd taken to kick in. I didn't want to  _move_. Just being alive hurt, and every little twitch only amplified the pain.

My head fell back onto the couch and I tried not to groan in pain. Luke was coasting around the coffee table, murmuring quietly, and I was currently trying to find the strength to put him to bed soon. It was hypothetically bath night. There was no way that was happening. My hand was killing me, and I needed an Ace bandage around it before I could do anything remotely productive at all—

Oh, fuck. And I had a shift at the diner tomorrow.

Fuck. I fucking needed that fucking money. Thanks a lot, Hobbs.

And  _fuck_  did my hand hurt!

I was just starting to work myself into a good fit of suppressed sobs when there was a loud knock at the door.

Right. Like I was moving.

Luke had frozen at the coffee table, and was now staring at the door with wide eyes.

There were two more knocks, louder than the first.

"Fuck off," I groaned, bringing a hand up to rub at my eyes—and then cringing as my entire torso flashed with pain.

The sound of the door swinging open made my eyes shoot open again.

Brian.

"What the fuck are you laying on the couch for?" he demanded, striding in with a broad grin on his face. "Get your ass up, we're going to Babylon, they dropped the fucking laws—"

And he stopped.

I winced.

It was almost painfully easy to see the transition of emotion on his face as he took in the icepack on my hand and the bruise on my face, and probably a zillion other small signs that all indicated that I was pretty battered and beaten. The pure glee that had initially been present on his face vanished, and rage was slowly building on its ruins.

Brian's eyes blazed as he advanced, and when he spoke, his voice was taut with fury.

"What—did—you— _do?_ "


	16. Eyes Shut

**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 16: Eyes Shut**

Remember all those times when Brian teased me for not being able to lie?

Yeah. Well. Apparently, I can do it when it counts.

"What the fuck did you do?" Brian practically thundered, making Luke whimper and coming rushing over to me.

"What do you mean, what did I do?" I asked, keeping my tone incredulous, my good hand reaching over and rubbing at Luke's head soothingly. "I got fucking attacked in a parking lot!"

"Oh, bull-fucking-shit," Brian all but snarled. "Kip Thomas shows up for the closing arguments with a busted nose, and he drops the suit—you just asked me last night if there was anything you could do, you little shit—I come over here and find you half-dead on the couch—"

"I got attacked in a parking lot!" I yelled furiously. I tried to push myself up, but the movement made pain rocket up my abdomen and into my ribs, and I stopped with a hiss, squeezing my eyes shut.

Luke prodded at my face anxiously, chanting my name. "Da, da, da, da, da…"

"Jesus Christ," Brian muttered.

"It was that asshole Chris Hobbs," I said through gritted teeth. I lay back on the couch, which hurt too, but less than it had to try to push myself up in the first place. "The one from school. He was trying to get to Luke but I wouldn't let him, and he attacked me. Michael chased him off, you can ask him."

"Michael?" Brian repeated incredulously.

I nodded. "It was in the parking lot of the Big Q."

"What the hell were you doing at the Big Q?"

"Shopping," I said, cracking my eyes open enough to glare at him. "I'm poor as shit, okay, and it's cheap."

Brian smoldered for a few minutes, still clearly set on believing that I had had something to do with Kip's busted nose and the subsequent dropping of the lawsuit.

Which, you know, I had.

And then Brian was pulling out his cell phone and punching in numbers. Probably calling Michael. Who, hopefully, would be dumb enough to just confirm that I'd been beaten up in the Big Q's parking lot today, and not mention my odd phone call to Daphne afterward. If there was ever a time when I would be grateful for Michael's less-than-genius level of intelligence, it would be now.

"Mikey!" Brian said cheerfully.

It occurred to me that Michael might just hang up on him.

"No—no, I know. You've mentioned it once or twice. Yes—I know, and—Jesus, Mikey, let me ask a fucking question!"

I winced.

Brian took in a deep breath. "Did you see Justin today at the Big Q?"

I supposed it should have hurt that he didn't trust me to tell him the truth, but it didn't. I mean, first of all, I  _was_  lying to him, and second of all, there was a lot of evidence that was pointing to me in this mess. Brian wasn't stupid.

Abruptly, I noticed Brian's eyes fixed on me.

"All right," he said, with a sort of false calm. "Nope, that was it. Have a good night with the doctor."

Luke had calmed down in the absence of yelling and was no longer mashing his hands anxiously into my face. He'd taken notice of the bag of ice on my hand and was trying to push it off, but he didn't appear to like how cold it was, so he was poking at with only one finger.

"No," I said gently, pulling his hand away from the pack. "Daddy needs that."

I heard Brian's phone snap shut and looked up.

"Well?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Do you believe me now, or do you want to yell at me some more?"

"Tell me what happened," Brian ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I relayed the story to him, starting with Chris Hobbs yelling my name across the parking lot and ending with a lie about Daphne coming to the Big Q to help me with Luke once I got home. Brian listened quietly as I talked, and Luke walked in slow circles around the coffee table, murmuring to himself and completely lost in his own little world.

"So, what, Daphne just left you stranded on the couch?" Brian asked, when I'd finished.

"No," I said, glaring a little. "She had to leave for a family thing right before I fed Luke his dinner. And I'm not  _stranded_ , you know. I can move. It just hurts a lot."

"Right. Take your shirt off."

I blinked. "What?"

"Your shirt." Brian leaned down impatiently and yanked the hem of my shirt up.

"Hey!" I protested, my hands flying to my exposed stomach.

But Brian's eyes were already fixed on the bruises that had darkened since my encounter with Kip earlier in the day. Chris had only gotten three or four kicks in, and the clusters of purple on my stomach and chest reflected that. I thought that it would be better by tomorrow. It wasn't anything too serious, just some bruising, and there was no swelling, which meant no internal damage.

"And your hand," Brian said, holding out one of his own expectantly.

Reluctantly, I let the ice pack fall off my hand and held it up for inspection. The center of the back of my hand was swollen and bruised in shades of dark blue and green on both sides, which was probably the worst of it, though two of my fingers were also looking a bit swollen at the bases, and I couldn't move my wrist very much without inciting a whole hell of a lot of pain.

"It looks worse than it is," I said, though I wasn't sure how true that was.

"What the hell did he do to it?" Brian asked, turning it over gently.

"Stepped on it. And jerked it around, a bit," I replied.

This was officially weird.

Angry Brian, I could handle. Horny Brian, I could handle. But now Brian was acting almost… concerned. Concerned Brian, I did not know how to handle.

"So, that asshole dropped the lawsuit?" I asked hesitantly.

Brian glanced at me, and then gave me a jerky nod.

I let my face split into a grin, even though it hurt the bruise on my cheek. "That's fucking awesome! What happened?"

Brian shrugged. "He just dropped it. I don't know why. He's got a busted nose, though."

I smirked. "I got Chris Hobbs' nose today. Rammed the edge of the baby carrier right into it."

"Yeah, and he got your ribs, hand and face," Brian shot back irritably.

"Small victories," I said, shrugging—and then stopping quickly as my chest flared with pain. "Ow…"

"Well, there's no way you're going to Babylon tonight," Brian said, dropping my hand at last and changing the subject.

"Nope," I answered.

Brian eyed me for a moment, and then crossed over to sit in Vic's armchair. "You should get someone to look at your hand."

I used my good hand to move the ice pack back onto the top of it. "Maybe."

"You still under your parents' insurance?" Brian asked, his eyes suddenly narrowed.

I nodded. "Yeah. If I wasn't, I'd be in trouble. I'm a mess without my allergy meds."

Brian didn't say anything, and I turned my attention to Luke for a moment. He had stopped coasting around the coffee table at some point, and was now crawling under it in my direction with his stuffed hippo in one hand. I'd have to change his diaper before he went to bed, and I'd have to change him into a sleeper, with only one hand. Changing his clothes might not be so bad. Luke had recently started to 'help' me dress him, holding out arms and such. But the diaper change… And I'd have to carry him up the stairs, his squirmy little body against my bruised torso.

"You ought to have that motherfucker arrested, Chris whatever," Brian said abruptly.

I snorted, tearing my eyes away from Luke. "Yeah, right. Like anyone would listen to a little pussy faggot like me. They'd say I provoked him, and probably end up charging  _me_  with something."

Brian frowned. "When did you get so cynical?"

"Daphne says I have trust issues." I made a face. "I say she's full of shit."

Okay, so actually, Daphne did have a point about me not trusting any of the authority figures in my life. I didn't want to get into it unless I was using it as an argument to prove to Brian that I saw him as an equal, not as a substitute parent or something, because there was no way that I'd trust him like I did if I saw him as any kind of authority figure.

"So, what, you're just gonna let him stomp all over you—literally?" Brian asked. "Maybe you really are a pussy little faggot."

"You didn't have my dad arrested after he beat the shit out of you," I shot back, suddenly angry. "Does that make  _you_  a pussy little faggot? Does it?"

Brian's eyes narrowed. "That was different."

"Why?"

"Because I wasn't going to get your fucking father arrested, all right?"

I allowed myself approximately three seconds to mentally jump up and down because  _Brian was thinking about my feelings holy shit_  and then I was on him again.

"Bullshit," I said.

Brian stared. "Excuse me?"

"Maybe part of it was because you were trying to spare my feelings, but I remember what you were screaming about the morning after." I locked onto his gaze relentlessly. "You wouldn't—you  _couldn't_  see it as an attack. You saw it as a fight, a fight that you lost, and that was all that mattered. And who goes to the police because they couldn't hold their own in a fight?"

"Justin, what happened to you in the parking lot was not a fight," Brian said flatly.

"And neither was what happened between you and my father."

Brian worked his mouth, clearly frustrated with me. "Look—the two are not the same situation. I haven't seen your father since that night. You're going to see this asshole every day for another six months, and this isn't an isolated incident. He tried to fucking strangle you last week."

"I'm not having him arrested," I said firmly.

Brian blew out a breath, sitting back in the armchair and crossing his arms over his chest. "Thought you had more fight in you than that."

"Brian, in the last three months, I've had my friend die, become a full-time parent, come out of the closet, run away from home, been disowned by my parents, and I'm  _still_  dealing with the legal aftermath of Cal shooting himself in the head," I snapped. "I'm sorry if I don't want to add a trial to that mess. I'm done with drama, all right? I just want to move on."

"Whatever."

I scowled at him. "No, not 'whatever'. Try 'yes, Justin, I understand and respect your decision, even if I disagree with it'."

Brian snorted. "Not fucking likely."

I sighed and cast my eyes up to the ceiling.

Something soft landed on my chest, light enough to not cause me any pain, and I looked down to find Luke's stuffed hippo sitting on top of me. A glance to my left revealed Luke standing right next to me, a pleased little grin on his face.

"For me?" I asked tiredly, picking it up with my good hand.

"Da!" Luke replied happily.

"Thank you," I said, petting the soft hippo. A quick glance determined that Brian was sitting in the armchair watching, but I refused to feel self-conscious. I picked up the hippo and made it attack Luke's face with a growling noise, and Luke giggled and swiped at it, his stance wobbling without his hands on the couch.

I let him have the hippo after a moment, and he stood there with it clutched in both of his hands.

"Luke, go give your hippo to Brian," I said, pointing.

Luke turned his head to look at Brian, but wasn't interested. "Da!" he said, throwing the hippo at me and latching onto the couch again. He blew a raspberry at me.

I stuck my tongue out at him in response, and then pointed to Brian again. "See? Brian. Brian wants to play with you."

"Don't send him my way," Brian muttered.

Luke cracked a grin at him, and for a moment he looked like he was going to make a move toward Brian when all of a sudden he froze. He started to rock slightly, face twisting, and little "negh" grunting noises escaped from his mouth.

I held in a groan.

Brian eyed him warily. "He's not going to cry, is he?"

Luke's face had scrunched up, and it was getting redder by the second.

"No," I sighed. "He's pooping."

" _Eugh_."

Luke went at it for another moment or two, and then he let out a big breath and his face split into a happy grin.

"Once or twice, when he was younger," I told Brian conversationally, "he would stick his hand down the back of his diaper and pull the poop out."

The look on Brian's face was so utterly revolted that I burst out laughing—and then promptly groaned and clutched my ribcage. "Ow—ow, you made me laugh, you asshole…"

"I didn't make you laugh, you little shit."

Brian's horrified face flashed in my mind, and I struggled not to snicker.

A little whine from Luke made me stop, though, and turn my attention to him. His hands were pushing at his diaper through his romper, clearly unhappy with it now that it had been soiled.

"Diaper time," I muttered, making a face. The diaper bag was downstairs, so I wouldn't have to battle my way up the stairs to my bedroom yet, but I'd still have to stand and pick him up and change the diaper with one hand—how the hell was I going to hold his ankles and wipe his butt at the same time?

"Aaaahhhhh…" Luke whined, his face twisting as his hands continued to push at the diaper.

"Cranky, cranky, cranky," I said under my breath. If course he would choose tonight to be fussy about his diaper. Turning to Brian, I said, "You should go to Babylon and celebrate. I'll go out some other time."

"Right," Brian said.

Then he stood and scooped Luke up into his arms.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, tensing and wincing at the pain that flashed across my torso.

Brian glanced around the living room, apparently spotted what he was looking for, and then began heading in the direction of the door. "You have everything he needs in the diaper bag?"

My mouth fell open. "What—you're changing his diaper. Do you even know _how_  to change a diaper?"

"Why the hell would I have changed a diaper before?" Brian snorted. He'd returned with the diaper bag over one shoulder.

"Gus?" I suggested.

"That's what the munchers are for," Brian replied, smirking.

I rolled my eyes, while mentally struggling to process the fact that Brian Kinney was going to change a diaper for me. "Do it on the coffee table so I can supervise."

Brian looked disgruntled that I didn't have faith in his ability to learn how to change a diaper through a combination of educated guesses and trial and error, but set Luke on the coffee table anyway.

"You owe me, like, thirty blow jobs for this," Brian informed me as he rummaged through the diaper bag. "Just so you know."

On the coffee table, Luke had rolled onto his stomach and had his eyes fixed on me.

"Clean diaper, wipes, baby powder, the blue towel," I reeled off for Brian. "Oh, and the little green washcloth for sure. Put the towel underneath him."

"Hold on, hold on," Brian grumbled, still rummaging through the diaper bag. "Christ. When was the last time you cleaned this thing out?"

I waited for him to finish bitching and rounding up supplies, and in the meantime made faces at Luke to keep him distracted.

"All right, towel," Brian eventually said, rolling it out. "No, wait, don't tell me. The next step is to get him out of the diaper."

I nodded. "But make sure you put the washcloth over his penis once you get it off, though. He loves to piss on people when they change his diaper."

 

Brian did not leave for Babylon after changing Luke's diaper. The ibuprofen that I'd taken earlier had finally started to kick in, so his next mission was to get me upstairs and into bed—it went well, except for the part where I was slammed with a wave of exhaustion halfway up, and by the time I got to the bedroom, I couldn't do much more than collapse on the bed and watch Brian get Luke changed for bed.

"He won't fall asleep for a while," I said, almost to myself. "It's not his bedtime yet. I should…"

I wasn't quite sure what I should do.

"You should go to bed," Brian said. He'd almost gotten Luke's sleeper on—Luke was having a grand time trying to roll off the bed, and exploded into giggles every time Brian caught him and rolled him back.

I shook my head. "I have to stay up until Debbie gets home. I have to tell her I can't go into work tomorrow."

Fuck. And I fucking needed that money, too.

"I'll write her a note. Go to sleep."

I struggled to keep my eyes open, but it was a losing battle. I was exhausted, everything in me hurt, and I couldn't wait to drop off to sleep and leave it all behind. I dimly registered the feeling of Luke trying to crawl on top of me, heard him squeal as Brian plucked him up and off of me… sounds of Brian settling him into his crib…

"Thanks for helping out," I mumbled, somewhat hazily.

"Yeah, well, don't count on me doing it again," Brian's voice came, sounding irritated but not irritated enough for it to actually register in my brain. "I'm not a fucking nursemaid, and if you get hurt again because you were too chickenshit to go after that Hobbs asshole, then it'll be your…"

I wasn't really listening to what he was saying by this point. Brian was talking to me. He'd been nice to me, he'd helped me out, and now he was talking to me. He was going to sign the guardianship papers for me when I asked him. He was talking to me.

A sleepy smile drifted onto my face.

"Fuck," Brian sighed, from somewhere just beyond the border of unconsciousness.

Everything was going to be okay.

 

If it hadn't been for Luke rattling the bars of his crib and practically yelling my name across the room the following morning, I don't think I would have gotten up until well into the afternoon. But Luke was awake by eight as always, and I was forced to get out of bed.

Brian had left a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water next to my bed. He was definitely getting at least two thank-you blowjobs for that.

This morning's pain was different than it had been last night. I could reasonably stand without feeling like my torso was being yanked apart, but now there was an overall soreness and stiffness in my body that made  _all_  movement painful. My hand throbbed a little more than it had yesterday, and it had swollen even more overnight and could not be moved at all. I'd have to get some kind of Ace bandage on it.

But I was able to pick Luke up and carry him down the stairs without keeling over in agony, so overall, I considered myself to be better off than I had been last night.

"Wow," Vic said as I entered the kitchen. "Brian wasn't exaggerating last night."

I frowned, but stopped when my cheek protested. "You talked to Brian?"

Vic nodded. "Sure. He was waiting for Sis and I when we got home last night."

Brian hadn't  _left?_  What had he done while I'd slept?

I furiously racked my brains for any other memories I might have had from last night, but all I could recall was drifting off to sleep as Brian bitched about how he wasn't a nursemaid. But he'd stayed for at least another hour, until Debbie and Vic had returned.

"Here, I'll get breakfast," Vic said, standing up. "You sit down and try to look a little less like a well-aimed fart wouldn't knock you over."

I thought about arguing, but the decided against it and placed Luke in his high chair before taking a seat at the table.

"Heard the lawsuit against Brian got dropped," Vic said conversationally as he pulled the box of Cheerios down from on top of the fridge. He raised his eyebrows at me as he dropped it on the table.

"Yeah," I said, my face splitting into painful grin. "It's great, isn't it?"

"It sure is," Vic agreed, smiling back. "Good timing, too."

I blinked at Vic's tone, my heart constricting, but when I met his eyes he winked.

Vic knew I'd had something to do with it.

"Guess he's a lucky guy," I said carefully.

"Lucky indeed."

And Vic said nothing more on the matter.

 

Debbie got home from the diner and immediately began mothering me to death. Then she yelled at me a bit for not calling her home last night, and tried to talk me into having Chris Hobbs arrested. And then she mothered me some more. She produced an Ace bandage for my hand, relieved me of Luke despite my protests, and insisted that I take tomorrow off from the diner, too. She also insisted that I talk to my mother when she, in a moment of bad timing, called that very afternoon.

"Really," I said, from under a pile of blankets on my bed. "I have nothing to say to her."

"Well, it sounds like she's got something to say to you," Debbie replied, yanking the covers back from my head.

I groaned.

"Sunshine," Debbie said sternly.

I scowled, but took the phone. She better not have told Mom what had happened yesterday.

"Hello?" I said as Debbie left the room.

"Justin," Mom said, sounding relieved. "Finally. I've been trying to get a hold of you all week."

"Yeah, I know." I made my annoyance clear.

I heard her sigh. "Sweetheart…"

And apparently, I didn't warrant much more than that.

"How did your finals go?" she asked.

"Fine. My SATs went well, too."

A startled pause.

"You took your SATs?"

"Yep," I said. "And I'm applying to college."

Hah. Stick  _that_  in your pipe and smoke it.

"I… didn't know you were still planning to go to college. That's wonderful, Justin," Mom said, after a long pause. "And are you enjoying your break from school? It must be nice. I know you've had a long semester."

"It's nice," I said mildly. "Look, if you just wanted to—"

"I wanted to have lunch with you," Mom interrupted. "Tomorrow or Tuesday—really, as soon as possible. You're welcome to bring Luke."

"Well, that's a first," I said, unable to help myself.

"Justin."

"Why do you want to have lunch?" I asked.

"There's some things I need to tell you," Mom answered. She now sounded slightly reluctant. "And I miss you. I want to make amends, and I'm hoping that what I have to tell you tomorrow will go toward that."

That caught my attention.

"I'll meet you at the Liberty Diner," I said, after a few moments of deliberation.

"The what?"

"The Liberty Diner. On Liberty Avenue." The Gay Diner on the Gay Street. "It's where I work."

"I didn't know you had a job," Mom said, sounding surprised. "You have time to work?"

"Sure I do," I replied casually.

"Oh." Mom paused. "Well, all right then. I'll meet you there at noon?"

"Sounds good."

It was only after I hung up that I remembered the nasty bruise on my face and my out-of-commission hand. Mom better not have a fit when she saw. I'd already been fussed over by Debbie enough to last me a lifetime, and she was the one with the actual right to do it.

 

I arrived at the diner the following day with Luke, only a few minutes early. The bruise on my face still looked pretty nasty, and my hand was still immobilized in an Ace bandage. The bruises on my chest and stomach had turned into a web of purples, greens and blues that were almost pretty—it reminded me of NASA photographs I'd seen of stellar nurseries. More importantly, though, I could move around without wincing too much.

I deliberately chose a table behind a group of bitchy-looking drag queens, and tried not to smirk when Mom came in, spotted me, and then spotted the drag queens and visibly faltered. Her hand fluttered around her chest for a moment as she took them in with wide eyes, but then she sucked in a breath and focused on me.

"Your face!" she cried, apparently just noticing it now. "Justin—and your hand! My God, what  _happened?_ "

"I was in a fight," I said casually.

Mom reached out and tipped my chin up, inspecting my face. "At school? Are people still giving you trouble? I can talk to the principal about it."

"It wasn't at school," I told her, jerking my face away. "It's fine."

"Not if you're fighting! Was it Daphne? I remembered she used to beat you up with you were little…"

"It wasn't Daphne," I said irritably. "It was Chris Hobbs, all right? He attacked me in a parking lot on Saturday. It's no big deal."

" _Attacked?_ " Mom repeated incredulously. "He  _attacked_  you?"

I shrugged uncomfortably. "What do you care? Does 'my victimized son' go over better than 'my fist-fighting son' at the country club?"

Mom frowned. "Justin, there's no need for that kind of attitude."

"Look, you said you had some things to tell me," I said, steering us on track. I'd been hopeful despite myself when I'd come here, but after seeing how fast  _that_  conversation had devolved, all I wanted now was to get this over with. "Are you gonna tell me or not?"

Mom sighed, glanced around, and finally sat down. Her eyes went to the high chair that she'd previously ignored. "I see you brought Luke. I swear he gets bigger every time I see him."

I nodded.

"Is he walking yet?" Mom tried.

I shook my head. "No. We've been getting close, though. Can we stop making small talk?"

"Justin!" Sam said, striding up to our table from out of nowhere. "Heard you called off yesterday 'cause you were—oh, fuck, you really are hurt, aren't you? Shit, honey. We thought you just had a sore ass or something. And who's this fine lady?"

"My mother," I answered stiffly.

Sam's hand flew to his mouth. "Oh! Shit, honey. I'm sorry."

Mom was blinking a lot and staring off into the distance, like she was trying to valiantly process the thought of her son having gay sex and failing.

"It's okay," I said, offering Sam a quick grin.

"Right," Sam said, straightening and reaching for his pad. "So, what'll it be?"

"BLT, fries and a Dr. Pepper," I ordered, before turning to Mom. "Stay away from the meatloaf. And the chili. Anything else is all right."

"Mm," Sam said, shaking his head in agreement. "Wouldn't touch that chili with a ten-foot pole."

"Just a Caesar salad and a glass of water, then," Mom said after a moment, still not having quite gotten over Sam's comment.

"And anything for the little guy?" Sam asked.

I shook my head. "Nope. He's got his own food."

"All right. I'll get that right in for you, honey."

Sam disappeared, and I started rummaging through the diaper bag for Luke's lunch.

"So, what was it you were gonna tell me?" I asked, pulling out a little jar of squash.

Mom folded her hands, straightening a little. "Well. You see." She stopped, unfolded her hands and cast her eyes around, and then folded her hands again. "Justin…"

I raised my eyebrows, as Luke make excited noises about his impending squash serving.

"Your father and I are getting a divorce," Mom blurted out.

 _That_  made me stop.

"He's divorcing you?" I asked, wondering what the hell could have pushed my father to divorce Mom.

"No," Mom said, delivering the second shock of the day. "I'm divorcing him."

I stared.

 _Stared._

To my left, Luke was waving his arms, babbling loudly for his food, and eventually managed to whack my forearm.

"You," I said, coming back to myself. "You're divorcing  _him_."

Mom nodded, looking almost… proud.

Mom. Divorcing Dad. Not only was she standing up for herself, but at the same time she was also casting off her status at the country club and putting herself in a financial position that was much less stable than the one she'd been lounging in for the last twenty years. She'd have to go back to work. She'd have to fight for custody of Molly.

"Why?" I asked, because it was the only real question coming to mind.

"I don't want you to think that we're doing this because of you," Mom said, reaching across the table to cover my hand with hers.

I jerked it back, busying myself with Luke's lunch.

"We've been having problems for a while, now, long before… before Luke came into our lives. It's just that you were my final straw." She leaned forward, hands perfectly folded and her hair perfectly coifed. "Justin, I love you. I miss you. But your father isn't as willing to compromise as I am, and I'm not willing to compromise my son out of my life."

"I…"

I tried to think of something to say other than  _you couldn't have done this two months ago?_  but I was failing.

"Please say something, honey," Mom said, eyes watching me desperately.

I shrugged one shoulder. "Congratulations, I guess. That's… I'm happy for you."

She broke out into a wide, relieved smile. "Thank you. It's going to take a while, of course, divorces don't happen overnight, but I want to go back to being a realtor and find a place of my own as soon as possible. I have a few friends helping me out right now. We've both gotten lawyers, and the process is being laid out for us…"

"Good," I said, nodding as I unscrewed the jar of squash.

Mom hesitated. "If you'd like, I could make sure to have a room for you and Luke… at the new house."

"That's really not—"

Wait.

"Mom, are you going to be able to keep paying Debbie for Luke and I?"

Luke finally got a spoonful of squash, and swallowed quickly and then opened his mouth for more.

Mom sighed, her eyes going down her hands. "I'd like to say yes. I'll say yes for now. But that could change."

Well, shit. That could be a problem.

But it wasn't like me living with Mom would save her any money. In fact, it would only end up costing her more. Also, I really didn't want to live with her again.

"I think that relocating would be a bad idea right now," I told her firmly. "Luke's finally gotten settled at Debbie's, and Vic's essentially a live-in nanny who works for free. And Debbie's house is close to the diner."

"All right," Mom said, nodding and looking only a little disappointed.

"Also…" I hesitated, fed Luke another spoonful of squash. "I'm thinking that I'm going to get my own place, when I graduate."

Mom's eyebrows rose. "Really?"

I nodded.

"And do what?" she asked.

After a moment or two of deliberation, I began to tell her my plan for college. She listened with rapt attention, and the conversation did not devolve into an argument.

So Mom was divorcing Dad. She was standing up to him, after years of skulking around behind his back, and it made me hope for the first time in weeks that maybe we could fix what had been broken between us. And maybe… Maybe I was willing to give her a chance to try.

 

"That Pam lady called for you again," Vic said, when I got home. "And so did some guy named Paul Schalch. Left a number."

Right. Paul Schalch.

"Giving out your number at Babylon?" Vic asked, raising an eyebrow.

I sighed, setting Luke's carrier down on the ground. "No. He's the executor of Mr. Anderson's will. I have to call him back and talk about what to do with the estate."

"Number's on the fridge if you're going to call him," Vic said, indicating the kitchen with the tip of his head.

"Yeah, I will," I decided. "I already know his number, though. Can you watch Luke for a few minutes?"

"Sure thing, kiddo."

It had become a pattern over the last few months that when shit happened, I would deal with it, come home, and then call Daphne and tell her about it. She would rant on my behalf or drag my feelings out or do whatever I needed her to do for me in that moment, whether or not I actually knew that I needed it. The knowledge of my parents' impending divorce was hitting me strangely—accordingly, I should want to call Daphne and tell her what had happened. She would make me feel better.

But I didn't want Daphne.

I wanted  _Brian_.

 

Unfortunately, Brian was at work and wasn't picking up his cell phone. So I ended up calling Daphne anyway.

"Divorced?" she repeated, sounding about as stunned as I felt. " _Your_  mom? Seriously?"

"I know, right?"

"Shit, Justin." She blew out a breath. "Shit. That sucks. I mean, it's kind of awesome, but at the same time it totally sucks, you know?"

I rolled my eyes. "Eloquent."

"So… So what does this mean for you?" Daphne asked, ignoring my remark.

"Not a lot," I answered, shrugging. Quiet pain flared up my chest, but I ignored it. "I mean, I'm disowned in everything but the paperwork. It's not like Dad wants custody of me. Mom asked me to move in with her, when she gets her own place, but I said no."

"Are you still mad at her?"

"I don't know. I guess." This really wasn't helping as much as it usually did. I didn't want an interrogation right now—I didn't need one, either. I just… wanted someone to make me feel less weird inside. Like Brian.

"You should give her a second chance," Daphne suggested. "This is what you wanted, right? For her to stand up for herself and for you?"

"She said that she and my dad have been having problems for years—excuse me for not jumping to my feet and applauding her for a divorce that's five years too late."

"All right, all right, don't give her a second chance," Daphne said, sounding as though she was rolling her eyes. "Fine."

This was  _not_  what I wanted right now.

"So what's going to happen to Mol—"

"Daph, I've got to go," I interrupted. I thought up a lie quickly. "Luke's fussing about his diaper."

"Oh." She paused. "Sure. You want me to come over? I'll bring a season of Buffy."

"No, it's all right. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay."

We said goodbye and I hung up.

Paul Schalch was next on my call list, but the person that I really wanted to call was Brian. Of course, he was probably going to be acting like a huge asshole after he'd been so nice to me on Saturday, so talking to him over the phone was probably out, as was dropping by the loft later tonight. So what did that leave me?

I picked up the phone and dialed, listening as it rang four times and then went on to voice mail.

"Hey," I said, when the answering machine clicked on. "I wanted to tell you that I dreamed about you last night. You were showing me how to use those purple anal beads of yours. I think we were at Babylon… in the backroom… I think everyone was watching." Pause. "You should come over and fuck me tonight. I'm horny."


	17. Impact

**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 17: Impact**

Brian did come over that night, presumably after hearing my voicemail, and though we went through our usual routine of "Hi, pass the kid off, let's go fuck now", he slowed us down when we were upstairs and in my room.

"How's the hand?" he asked, pulling away from a kiss to reach for my forearm.

I glanced at my Ace-bandage-wrapped hand. "Not functional. But I'm getting there. No handcuffs for a while, though."

"Mm. Too bad." Brian let it go and leaned in to kiss me, hands going down to the hem of my shirt. I lifted my arms, ignoring the slight twinge of pain that it gave me to do so, and pushed my tongue into his mouth and moved my hand down into his pants, where his erection was starting to harden against my thigh.

"I want you to fuck me," I murmured, as we broke the kiss so that Brian could pull the shirt over my head.

Brian tossed the shirt away, eyes going to my chest.

I refused to look down, wishing that he wouldn't look either. The bruises were still there, in all sorts of greens and purples, but I could move and I could definitely fuck. Those were the important things.

"You are going to fuck me, aren't you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow and trying to hide my discomfort.

"Why the hell wouldn't I?" Brian asked, finally bringing his eyes back up to look at me. "You think I drove all the way over here to visit with Deb?"

I gave him the most insolent, bratty look I could muster. "So  _do it_  already."

And Brian did.

But it wasn't our typical fuck. Which was not to say that it was bad. Just…

I don't want to use the word making love. It wasn't that. But Brian was so  _gentle_.

He insisted that I lie on my stomach and not get up onto my hands and knees at any point. "Just let me push into you," he murmured, nipping my ear. Then he pulled my underwear down my legs with his teeth and nibbled at the inside of my thighs, moving inward just below my ass, nose brushing against my butt cheeks. He rimmed me for a little while, fingers pushing gently at my hips, and then he started to prepare me with his fingers, tongue painting wet stripes down my back as he worked.

I came twice before he actually got in me.

And when he was inside me, his thrusts weren't quick or rushed—they were long and slow like wide pencil strokes. Every push inside of me was hard and deliberate, and I found myself pinned down to the mattress, pinned down as Brian hit my prostate and then held it there for several seconds. I was incoherent. Moaning. Grabbing. Pleading. My chest was hurting, my hand was throbbing, but it was absolutely nothing compared to my desperation to come.

When I did come, it was in a wave of ecstasy that overwhelmed every single one of my senses to the point where I forgot that I existed in a corporeal body for a few seconds. The aftermath left me dizzy and fighting to breathe, and I barely registered the feeling of Brian coming inside of me. I lay on the bed, reeling, and was only vaguely disappointed when there was no great  _whump_  of Brian-weight on top of me after he'd tied off the condom.

He traced a finger down my back, lying on his side next to me. We both fit on the bed without any bodily overlap that way, though just barely.

Finally, I turned to look at him, unable to help the goofy grin on my face.

Brian rolled his eyes.

"Everything's still intact," I said happily, stretching a little. My torso was hurting, but the stretching was helping with that and I was too happy to care anyway.

"This bed's too small," Brian complained, for the thousandth time.

"So buy me a bigger one."

"I already have a bigger one. You're just never in it."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes. I should give Luke up for adoption so you can fuck me all the time in a properly-sized bed. Clearly, this is the solution to the problem."

"Did I say that?"

"No, but you intimated that I should spend more time at the loft, which presupposes the absence of Luke."

"You can stop using your SAT words now, you know."

I elbowed him. "Fuck off. Anyway, I thought Michael told you to stay out of Deb's house?"

"Right, because Mikey dictates my life," Brian said with a snort.

I opened my mouth to point out that Brian had acquiesced to Michael's demands two weeks ago, but decided against it. Instead, I decided to go with a more optimistic line of questioning.

"How are things with Michael?" I asked.

Brian shrugged. "Wouldn't know. Haven't spoken to him lately."

"Oh."

I'd kind of been hoping for some sort of reconciliation, now that Brian wasn't in danger of losing his job. That maybe the gravity of Brian's situation would have snapped Michael out of his self-righteous little snit. But apparently not.

"Look—fuck Mikey," Brian said suddenly.

"But he's your best friend," I protested, almost automatically.

"He  _was_  my best friend," Brian corrected, annoyed. He paused and drew in a breath, and apparently decided to elaborate. "I knew what the price was gonna be to make things work with him and Dr. Dave, and I knew that Mikey wouldn't be able to see that I did it for his own good. This is exactly what I expected to happen. I made my choice, and I don't fucking do regrets."

But I knew that he'd hoped. Brian may have logically known that Michael would never forgive him, but he'd still hoped. It was so painfully obvious.

But if Brian was going to finally put Michael behind him… I wasn't going to be the one to keep dredging it up.

"All right," I finally agreed. "Fuck Michael. Got it."

Brian hesitated. "And, you know, you don't have to give the kid up for adoption if you want to spend more time at the loft."

I rolled my eyes. "No, I'll just have to stick him with a babysitter all the time. Brian, that's not fair to Luke. I'm already spending too much time away from him with school and working at the diner."

Brian shrugged one shoulder, still looking a bit uncomfortable. "You don't have to stick him with a babysitter. Bring him with you."

I stared.

"You.  _You're_  telling me to bring a baby to the loft. More than once."

"He naps all the time, right? Just make sure he'll be asleep for a significant percentage of the time you'll be there."

I tried not to roll my eyes again. "And where's he going to sleep? Once he starts walking, that carrier is gonna be history."

"The couch?" Brian suggested.

"Are you serious?" I asked, a little afraid that he might actually be. "Do you know how dangerous that is? Babies roll in their sleep, Brian, he could roll right off! And your hardwood floors aren't exactly the best for cushioning falls, you know."

"I was joking, you twat," Brian said irritably. "We'll work something out."

"If you say so." Then I grinned, suddenly remembering something I'd been meaning to tell Brian. "Hey, you know, Luke really likes Gus."

"Why?" Brian asked, making a face. "All he does is cry and snot on himself."

"Okay, maybe not  _like_ ," I allowed. "But he's completely fascinated by him. Every time I babysit for Gus, Luke can't take his eyes off of him, babbling at him and following him everywhere. He even tried to give Gus his hippo."

"Takes after you, then," Brian said, tongue in cheek. "Sees a Kinney and suddenly he can't stop staring, babbles endlessly, follows him everywhere…"

I shoved him. "I don't follow you everywhere!"

"You sat on my lap in Woody's," Brian reminded me.

Okay, so maybe I had followed him everywhere when I'd been living at home. But… Ah!

"You turned up in my school's parking lot," I shot back triumphantly. "And Sara's house.  _Twice_."

Hah. So there.

"Two of those don't count, since Deb was all but holding me at gunpoint," Brian replied. He thought for a moment. "And the third one, you were being extenuatingly stupid, so it doesn't count either."

"Extenuatingly stupid?" I repeated indignantly.

"Another one of your SAT words. It means—"

"I know what extenuatingly means," I interrupted, tossing my head haughtily. "For your  _edification_ , I was protesting your insinuation that I acted with anything less than prime mental faculty during that time. I was acting under duress, and moreover—"

"Christ!" Brian clapped a hand over my mouth.

I snapped at it with my teeth playfully.

"You little shit—"

"Shows what—Brian!"

"—teach you to—"

"Ow!" I protested between giggles. "Ow, Brian—ow—I'm injured! Injured party here!" I yelled, waving my bandaged hand in the air.

Brian relented, snickering, but he kept his arm draped across my back.

I couldn't help the little grin on my face, and I scooted a little closer.

"Well, if you're better enough to get fucked, you're definitely better enough for Babylon," Brian said, raising his eyebrows at me.

I nodded. "I can't wait."

"You gonna turn up tonight?" he asked.

"No, I've got the late shift at the diner," I said, shaking my head. "I've got it for the rest of the week, and a whole bunch of afternoon shifts."

"That's shitty," Brian commented.

I'd kind of done it on purpose. I wanted to schedule as much work as I could during the times when Luke usually slept, because these three weeks were a precious period of time when I could spend every day with him, not just evenings and extended periods of time on the weekend, and I wanted to take advantage of that. Once the holidays were over I'd be back in school and working all the time.

I was debating whether or not to tell Brian about that, and risk him calling me pathetic or a lesbian or something, when I suddenly realized that he was moving to get out of bed.

A flash of fear that he was leaving already made me open my mouth and speak before I gave it permission to do so.

"Wait," I said, grabbing onto his arm. "I have something to ask."

Brian paused, and then sank back down on the bed. "Right. I can't fucking smoke in here anyway, I forgot."

Oh. He'd only been going for a cigarette.

Just as well, then.

"So," Brian said, raising an eyebrow. "Out with it."

I faltered for a moment, and decided that this was not a lying down conversation. This was a sitting up conversation.

I sat up, with minimal cringing and grunting on my part, and seated myself cross-legged on the bed.

Brian looked as if he were trying not to laugh.

"This is a no-laughing conversation," I said, glaring. Then I thought to add, "Also a no-making-fun-of-Justin conversation. A take-Justin-seriously conversation. A—"

"I get it," Brian interrupted.

Right.

I took in a big breath and nodded. "Okay. So, you have to know that after the last few months I've had—Dad kicking me out, Mom abandoning me, Cal shooting himself—I'm not really big on parental figures. I don't really trust any of them, not even Deb."

I waited for some caustic remark from Brian about him not being my therapist, but he just looked at me expectantly.

"But I… I trust you. More than anyone, except myself. You're the only adult who's ever treated me like an equal."

Brian's mouth opened.

"I know, I know," I said hurriedly, cutting him off. "It's misplaced and stupid and you don't even fucking like me that much. I've heard. But I do trust you, and that's the way it is, so deal with it."

"Fine, whatever, you trust me," Brian said, scowling. "Was that all you wanted to say?"

"No," I said, glaring right back. "I'm just laying groundwork."

"That doesn't bode well," Brian muttered.

I pretended not to hear him and pushed on. "So, uh, you heard that Luke's grandfather shot himself a few weeks ago, right?"

Brian nodded.

"Well, he left behind a… a pretty sizable inheritance, once you count the life insurance policy and the value of his house. And he left it to Sara, but since she's dead, it goes to his next-of-kin, which in this case is Luke."

"Right. Your kid's loaded. Get to the part where this concerns me."

I exhaled. "Well, technically, Luke isn't loaded. I am. Because he's underage, the money's going into a trust for him that only I can access until he turns eighteen."

Brian's eyes narrowed. "But you're not eighteen, either."

To my eternal frustration.

"No," I agreed. "I'm not."

"So…"

"So I need someone to act as guardian of the money until I turn eighteen. Someone I can trust." I looked at him meaningfully.

Brian stared at me for a long moment.

I bit my lip. "Would you act as guardian for the account? Please? I don't have anyone else I trust. There's not a lot involved—you just sign some paperwork to take on the guardianship, and then you sign it over to me in March when I turn eighteen. That's it. I—I could even give you a percentage, if you want."

Brian let out a long breath, and his head dropped onto the pillow.

I sat there uncertainly.

"Okay," Brian said, opening his eyes. "First of all, I don't want any of your money. I don't need it. It's yours."

I nodded quickly, suppressing the hope that had blossomed in my chest. He hadn't said yes yet.

"Second," Brian continued, "if I do this, it's with the understanding that it's not because I love you or some shit like that. And it doesn't make you my fucking  _boyfriend_. It would be in no way construed as anything other than a business deal."

He  _so_  cared about me.

I nodded anyway.

"Third—" Brian paused. "Third…"

I waited.

"Fuck, I'll think up a third stipulation later. I'll sign the fucking papers, all right?"

The grin practically  _exploded_  on my face.

"Thank you!" I all but shouted, throwing myself at him and wrapping all available limbs around him like a barnacle. "Thank you, thank you, thank you—"

"Justin," Brian said flatly.

I paused. "Yeah, okay. This kind of hurts anyway." I rolled off of him as best I could, what with the limited bed space, and then turned face him again with my biggest smile. "Seriously, though,  _thank you_. You're saving my ass, here."

"It's a thing worth saving," Brian replied, eyes traveling down to said ass.

If it was possible, I grinned harder.

Brian cleared his throat, and made to get off the bed again. "Now, seriously, I've got to go."

A flash of disappointment made its way through my blinding happiness. "You have people coming over?"

"Not hardly," Brian snorted, grabbing his jeans. "Huge presentation for Serah-Jones Inc. I should have had it done last week, but with the fucking lawsuit, it got pushed."

I lay on the bed, watching him dress.

He'd agreed to help. He was going to sign the papers, and I wouldn't have to put Luke's inheritance—our inheritance—in the hands of someone I didn't fully trust. It was the most incredible relief to have this taken care of. And we had five days until Christmas, which had been Pam's requested deadline for getting this sorted out.

"Brian?" I said, as he was slipping his feet into his shoes.

He looked at me.

"Thank you," I said, putting in as much gratitude and relief as I could manage into the two words. It wasn't enough. "Really. Thank you."

Brian didn't look happy. "Whatever."

I winced. "Oh, come on. Don't go and be an asshole just because you think you have to compensate for—"

Brian had already stalked out of the room.

I flopped back on the bed, winced, and then sighed.

It was no matter.

Brian Kinney  _cared_  about me, whether he liked it or not.

 

"You're using too much of the passive language," I said, making another mark with my pen.

Daphne looked up, frowning. "I am not."

"You asked me to improve it," I reminded her, pointing my pen threateningly. "And I say active language would improve it."

"It sounds too… boastful," Daphne finally decided, scrunching up her nose.

"Well,  _duh_. It's a college application essay, it's supposed to be."

"Easy for you to say."

I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Daphne gave me an incredulous look. "Justin, you haven't got a modest bone in your body."

"I do too!" I said, elbowing her. "I'm just very aware of all my good characteristics, that's all."

"Yeah, that's obvious enough, reading this," Daphne replied dryly, tapping her pen on my own stack of essays.

"Less passive language," I instructed, returning to my original point. "Do it. Or else."

Daphne rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to say something when suddenly her eyes fixed on a point in space behind me.

"Oh my God, Justin!" she squealed, gripping my arm. "You didn't  _tell_  me Luke was walking!"

My head whipped around so fast that it hurt, eyes locking onto my son—

"Oh," I sighed, slumping back in my chair with relief. "God, you scared me. That's not walking, Daph, he's holding onto the couch."

"Same thing!" Daphne insisted.

I rolled my eyes. "No, it's not."

Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Oh, all right. Promise me you'll tell me the moment it happens?"

I shrugged and nodded. Who the hell else did I have to call and celebrate with, anyway?

Just then the front door opened and Debbie came bursting in, the winter winds blasting in behind her before she got the door shut.

"It is colder than a witch's titty out there," Debbie declared, stomping her boots out on the rug. She glanced over at us. "You two doing homework? Aren't you on break? Oh, and there's the  _baby!_  Oh, aren't you the cute one? Look at you, making your way around the couch! Yes, look at you!"

"We're editing each others' college essays," I explained, ignoring Debbie's usual reel of baby talk that she aimed at Luke.

Debbie had set down her bags and was now peeling off her coat. "How about some hot chocolate and cookies to go with those essays, hm?"

Daphne and I glanced at each other, grinning.

"Yes, please!"

And as Debbie bustled into the kitchen, I thought that maybe I did have more than one person who would celebrate Luke's first steps.

 

Twenty-four hours and two ignored voicemails later, I was knocking on the door to Brian's loft.

He swung the door open.

"Hi!" I said brightly. "Miss me?"

Brian's eyes went to me, and then to Luke's carrier.

"You know," he grumped as he ushered me in, "you can't keep bringing the kid with you so that I won't be an asshole to you. One of these days it's not going to work."

"You could have just responded to my voicemails," I replied.

Brian grunted and rolled the door shut.

I grinned, setting Luke's carrier down on the counter and dumping the diaper bag on the ground.

"Ditched the bandage, I see," Brian observed, coming up behind me.

I nodded, lifting my still-injured hand for inspection. "Yeah. I can actually move it a bit, now."

Brian eyed my still-swollen hand doubtfully.

I wiggled my fingers a little, trying not to wince in pain, and he didn't look very impressed.

"Tell me when you're free," I ordered, abandoning my hand and steering things back on track. "Pam was hoping to get this all settled before Christmas, and it's only three days away."

"Who the fuck is Pam?" Brian asked, and despite the words his tone was more curious than demanding.

"The lawyer who's sorting through the inheritance mess Cal left behind," I told him. "She works for the city."

Brian gave me a disparaging look. "Fucking hell. I have to deal with a city lawyer? Why the fuck isn't Melanie doing it?"

I blinked. "Uh. Well. She doesn't like me very much, I don't think. And she doesn't specialize in this kind of law."

"What do you mean, she doesn't like you?" Brian asked, frowning.

I shrugged, not meeting his eyes now, and pulled the blanket off of Luke's carrier to reveal the squirming body beneath. His little hands were pushing on the buckles of his straps, and he was twisting something fierce.

Rolling my eyes slightly, I started to undo his straps—and then hurriedly caught him before he pushed himself right out of the carrier.

"Okay, so maybe she likes me," I allowed as I set Luke on the counter and unzipped his snowsuit. "But she and Lindsay definitely don't think too highly of me. They don't see much past the teenage father bit."

"Right. Like they'd leave Gus with someone they 'don't think too highly of'," Brian said sardonically.

I shook my head. "No, really. They only call me when they're desperate for a sitter."

Brian didn't respond to that, so I set Luke down and watched him immediately start pulling himself up with the help of the barstool. The sound of the fridge opening told me that Brian was getting something to drink, but I didn't look up until it suddenly occurred to me that Brian could be pulling out  _anything_  from that fridge of his, from vodka to popperz, and my head snapped up.

He just had water.

"So, when would you be free to meet?" I asked, retuning to my original question.

"You really couldn't have left that in a voice message?" Brian asked, long-suffering. "Or called my secretary?"

"I was out, anyway," I said with a shrug. "I've got to mail some stuff, and Deb needs postage stamps."

He moaned, but eventually started to wander over in the direction of the computer. "Let me check my calendar…"

"C'mon, dude," I said to Luke, taking his hand in my good one and lifting it high in the air, allowing him to cling on as he took a few shaky steps away from the stool. It was slow progress, as his steps were uncertain and occasionally he slipped and I had to pull him up, but it was one step closer to walking. We'd started doing it last night, and he was getting the hang of it.

"Today's a big day for me, you know," I said to Brian, as he drummed his fingers impatiently as the computer booted up.

His eyes flicked in my direction, which I took to be sign of immense interest.

"Today is the day I mail out all of my college applications," I announced.

Brian did actually look up at that. "Oh really?"

I nodded, taking another step forward. Luke was taking slow, wobbly steps forward, but he was gradually gaining speed as he started to get the hang of it. "Yep. Got 'em all there on the counter. Three of them are rolling admission, but the other four won't let me know until April. It's gonna  _kill_ me not to know until then."

"Which one is PIFA?" Brian asked.

I looked up, startled. "What? I'm not applying there."

"But you wanted to," Brian pointed out.

"Well, yeah," I said with a shrug. "I told you before that all I ever wanted to be was an artist. But… now I'm a father. I can't have both."

"Bullshit. If you wanted it, you could do it."

"I won't do that to Luke," I said stubbornly, as said baby took another step forward. Thankfully, Luke was concentrating enough on the walking and wasn't paying attention to the rising tensions in the room. "Being an artist isn't a stable career choice. There's no guarantee that I'll be a success, or that I won't spend fifteen years living in poverty before I finally get recognition or something, and I need to do better than that for him."

"You will do better than that," Brian said confidently. "I've seen your stuff and you're fucking talented. You'd take the art world by storm."

I blew out a frustrated breath. "Look, it's not like I have to go to art school to draw. It's not like I'm going to stop drawing just because I'm not going to PIFA."

Brian didn't even blink. "Fine. I'm adding my third stipulation to me signing the fucking whatever guardianship contract: if you want me to sign, you have to apply to PIFA, and if you get in, you have to attend."

"Do you not get it?" I demanded, abruptly letting go of Luke's hands and striding forward furiously. "Do you not  _understand_  the concept of parenthood? It doesn't matter that I want to go to PIFA, or that I want to be an artist. It doesn't matter! Do you know why? Because I won't gamble Luke's life for my dream of becoming an artist."

"Ah, but you —"

" _I have to put him first!_ " I yelled, startling Brian into silence. "Don't you  _get_  that? My mother and father have never, not once in their lives, put me above everything else else, and I need to do that for my son. I won't have him growing up with the knowledge that I chose my dreams over his wellbeing!"

I stood there, breathing hard, almost trembling with spent fury.

Brian stared at me almost impassively. Finally, after a few long moments, he raised his eyebrows slightly. "Tell me what you want, Justin. What  _you_  want."

"I want Luke to have the best," I answered without even needing to think about it. "I want him to have everything. That's what I want, more than being an artist—more than anything."

Brian studied me for a moment longer, and then slowly nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?" I repeated, somewhat incredulous.

"I was wrong," Brian said quietly, eyes fixed on me, "when I said that Luke would be better off with some middle-aged couple in the suburbs. You remember, that morning after your dad kicked my ass?"

I nodded slowly.

"I was wrong. Kid couldn't ask for a better father than you. You… Justin, you—" Brian broke off and shook his head.

I felt a rush of emotion that came spilling out of my mouth in the form of words. "It's just that—it's—however much I may have wanted to go to PIFA, it's all irrelevant in the face of how much I want Luke to be happy," I tried to explain, feeling winded and shaky all of a sudden. "I love him so much. He's—he's  _mine_."

"So no PIFA?" Brian asked, suddenly back to the original point.

I shook my head. "No."

Brian's eyes drifted behind me. "When did he start walking?"

I rolled my eyes as I turned my head, recalling my conversation with Daphne the other day. "Okay, for the last time, it's not walking, it's coast—"

I stopped.

Luke wasn't coasting.

I'd left him standing in the middle of the loft somewhere in my fit of anger, abandoning our walk together, but in my absence he'd just continued onward. He was taking slow, wobbly steps across the loft floor in my direction, all by himself.

I sunk to my knees, throat tightening.

"Uh. Hello?"

I abruptly remembered Brian's question, but I couldn't take my eyes off of Luke. When I spoke, my voice was hushed. "It's—he hasn't. These are his first steps."

"Oh." There was surprised silence from Brian. "Well. Holy shit."

"C'mon, Luke," I called softly, holding out my hands. "C'mon. Daddy's waiting."

From about three feet away, Luke's face split into a grin and he squealed out a happy "Dada!", only to stumble and go flying forward—

I dove out and caught him before he face-planted onto the hardwood floor, scooping him up with a delighted laugh and pulling him tight against my chest, plastering his head with kisses.

"You did it! You did it, you did it, you did it! You were walking!" I was a little bit crazy with excitement. "Oh my God—Brian, did you see that? He was walking! He's not supposed to walk for another five weeks, all the baby books said—oh my god—his first steps—"

I shut myself up before I started to make even less sense and pressed my face against the top of Luke's blond head. He was giggling and squirming with all the attention, and when I laid him down on the floor and started blowing raspberries on his belly, he was absolutely  _screeching_  with laughter.

Eventually I drew back, a huge grin on my face that could not—would not—be repressed, and ruffled his hair.

Luke lay on his back on the floor, still recovering from his laughing fit, babbling happily to himself.

Still breathless with excitement, I found myself staring at Brian. It took a few seconds for me to register the grin on his face, and the fact that his eyes were solely riveted on Luke—that was until he noticed I was staring, and his face was immediately wiped blank.

Mostly. The corners of his mouth were still twitching upwards. And after a moment's pause, he finally let a small smirk slide onto his face.

"Smart little fucker," he said, eyes going back to Luke, and there was a note of pride in his voice.

My cheeks  _ached_  from grinning.

 

I burst into Debbie's house on cloud nine.

Vic looked up from his armchair. "Someone's happy," he observed mildly.

"Luke took his first steps!" I practically shouted, throwing my hat and gloves onto the couch in my hurry to get out of my winter gear. I tossed my winter coat on top, next to the diaper bag, and set to work unbuckling Luke from his carrier. "I was over Brian's and he just started walking, it was the most amazing thing, he just started  _walking_  all by himself!"

"He's walking?" Debbie demanded, from somewhere upstairs. I heard rapid footsteps. "My baby's walking?"

" _My_  baby's walking," I corrected, grinning like a madman as I lifted Luke up and out of his carrier. "Isn't that right, little dude? You were walking!"

"I don't believe it!" Debbie said excitedly, coming down the stairs in a rush. "When did that happen? I thought you were running to the post office!"

I shrugged. "I made a side-trip to Brian's and let him loose while we talked—I just turned my back for a moment, and he was just… walking. He was walking!"

"You mean that asshole got to see his first steps, and I didn't?" Debbie asked, sounding insulted, as though Luke had deliberately picked Brian over her as his first-steps audience. "Ooo, look, he's pulling himself up again! Is he gonna do it again?"

Luke was indeed pulling himself up on the couch, and I grabbed his hippo out of the diaper bag.

"Luke," I called, wiggling the hippo a few feet away. "Luke!"

Luke let out an excited squeal and dropped to his hands and knees, crawling over to hippo quickly.

"Or not," I muttered, dropping the hippo and letting him have it.

It was the thing about babies. They never did things when you wanted them to, especially when you were trying to show off a new trick.

Debbie, however, was much more persistent than I was and crouched down, calling Luke's name and only succeeding in getting him to crawl to her.

I exchanged looks with Vic.

"Your mother called, while you were out," Vic said. "She wants you to call her back."

I watched Luke pull himself up using the leg of the coffee table, and then push off from it on slow, unsteady feet. Debbie whooped excitedly and held out her arms, making 'gimmie' motions. Luke, delighted with attention as always, grinned happily and began to make his way over to her on unsteady feet.

"I'll call her back today," I said to Vic, not taking my eyes off of Luke.

I meant it, though. I wanted to tell her that Luke was walking, and I wanted her to be as proud of him as Debbie was.

 

Brian, Pam and I met the following afternoon in a somewhat fancy soup and sandwich place that Brian had picked because it was close to Ryder. Pam was dressed in another sharp-looking suit that clashed with the exhaustion on her face—but it wasn't the "I've had a stressful week" kind of exhaustion, it was the "I've had a stressful decade and don't see light at the end of the tunnel" kind of exhaustion. God. It did not inspire me to become a lawyer for the city of Pittsburgh at all.

Brian, though, was dressed to the nines and looked hot as hell. As always.

With both of them in their suits and me in my cargos and sweater, I looked even younger. The waitress even exclaimed over my 'baby brother' as I was putting Luke into the high chair she'd provided me.

Then Melanie showed up.

"Hey, kiddo," she said, sitting down across from me and setting her jacket on the back of her chair. Her eyes flicked to Brian. "Hi, Brian."

Brian inclined his head. "Mel."

I stared at him, confused. Pam looked confused as well, which made me feel a little less irritated. At least they weren't all pulling a coup on me.

"I hope you don't mind," Brian said casually, eyes fixed on Pam. "I brought my lawyer to look over the paperwork before I sign."

Pam looked between Melanie and Brian in surprise for a moment, and then shrugged. "Sure."

Part of me was irritated with Brian for telling Melanie about my situation without my permission, but part of me also had to admit that it was a good idea. I trusted that Pam wasn't trying to scam us or anything, but it was always a good idea to have a friendly lawyer look over things before you signed.

I was also a little surprised that Melanie would do this for me. She couldn't be doing it for Brian—unless he was paying her?

"Told you she likes you," Brian muttered into my ear, as the two lawyers began comparing work history.

I frowned. Brian probably wasn't paying her for this, then.

Irritated that he'd been right, and also  _still_  irritated that he'd told her about this without my permission, I reached over and rested a hand atop his crotch, stroking lightly. "Buy me lunch," I muttered back. "This place is expensive, you asshole."

Brian agreed, but not before grabbing my own crotch and giving me an instant boner in return. Fucker.

"So," Pam said, finally pulling out her papers and looking up.

Brian and I straightened as one, respective boners thankfully hidden.

Melanie rolled her eyes.

I settled the diaper bag over my lap and began hunting for Luke's lunch. He was sitting quietly in his high chair, currently engaged by the napkin he was tearing into tiny pieces, but I knew that if I waited another twenty minutes he'd start to get fussy for his meal.

"I trust you've been briefed on the situation, Mr. Kinney?" Pam asked.

He nodded. "If you could give the paperwork to Ms. Marcus, she'll just make sure it's in order, and then I'll sign."

Pam nodded and handed a small sheaf of papers over to Melanie, who put on her glasses began looking over them immediately. 

Luke was reaching for the container of yams I'd set on the table, and I quickly busied myself with feeding him before he started making unhappy noises. Taking babies to restaurants that were not the Liberty Diner was always a risky business. Luke was usually a pretty happy baby, but even the best of babies could get set off by something and start bawling.

By the time Luke was finished with his yams, Melanie had finished the paperwork.

"It looks fine to me," she said, handing the stack to Brian. "There's X's on all the blanks you need to sign, date or initial."

"Do I have to sign anything?" I asked, feeling slightly like I had no reason for being there.

Pam and Melanie shook their heads.

"You're a minor," Melanie said, making a small face. "Your signature isn't worth much for another few months—essentially, Brian's signing everything for you."

Well, great. I  _really_  had no reason for being there.

I stifled a sigh and firmly told myself to get over it. I was done with self-pity and teenage angst, and I wasn't going to sit here and mope over the fact that I wasn't yet old enough to fully control Luke's inheritance. It was beyond my control, and I was doing everything in my power to make sure that one day it would be within my control.

We waited silently as Brian signed, dated and initialed his way through the forms.

"Dada?" Luke asked, waving his hands at me and straining out of his high chair. "Dada uh?"

I unwrapped a teething cookie for him (he'd been drooling a little more than usual as of late, and even if he didn't have a tooth coming in it would at least keep him occupied for a while) and handed it over. Luke happily clutched it in both hands and began gumming on a corner quietly.

Finally, Brian finished signing the forms, neatened the pile, and handed them back to Pam.

It was done.

Pam was looking over the forms, tearing off carbon copies here and there, and was eventually satisfied with it all. She handed a few copies over to Brian and tucked the rest away in her briefcase.

"Thank you," I said, leaning over to Brian and putting one hand between his thighs and kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Brian pushed me away, rolling his eyes."Whatever."

"Not whatever," I insisted, removing my hand and gaining a bit of seriousness. I forced Brian to meet my eyes. " _Thank_   _you_."

"You're welcome," Brian said, scowling a little.

But I didn't miss it when, on his way out, he ruffled Luke's hair and gave his belly a quick tickle, making Luke giggle madly.

 

Later that night, I called up Melanie and decided to take a risk.

"Hey—yeah, it's Justin. Do you have a moment?" I huddled away from where Debbie and Vic were watching television on the couch. "Three things: wills, living wills, and power of attorney. Can you help me with those?"

But this time, it wasn't a leap of faith. I knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that I was making the right choice.

 

Everyone was stunned when Brian turned up for Deb's Christmas party.

I just sat back and grinned, bouncing Luke on my knee.

Michael looked mad enough to kick a kitten through a fan at Brian's apparent nerve, but Debbie slapped him on the back of the head before he could get a word out and sent him out back to grab another six-pack of beer. Debbie then joined Emmett, Ted and Lindsay in railing Brian for an explanation, why he'd chosen to show up for a Christmas party for the first time in years, but Brian expertly shook everyone off and slipped into the kitchen, closing in on the rum balls with alarming accuracy. Lindsay followed with Gus.

"Poor Gus," I murmured to Luke, now that Lindsay was out of hearing range. "Aren't you glad your daddy doesn't dress you in outfits like that? Daphne would buy you ridiculous little Christmas jester costumes if I let her, you know. She'd probably even like those pom-poms on his hat."

Luke blew a spit bubble at me, grinning.

I wiped at the drool on his chin and reached for the stuffed hippo next to me. I made it do a little dance for Luke, tickling him in the face every so often as I sang, "We three kings of Orient are… smoking on rubber cigars… One was load—"

"Funny," Brian's voice came from behind me suddenly, and a hand slid into my hair. "That's not how I learned it."

I look up, smirking, and continued the song. "One loaded, it  _explo-oded_ —now there's two kings of Orient are."

"Such disrespect for the church," Brian said sadly, shaking his head.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, right. Like you went to mass this morning."

Brian flopped down next to me on the couch and settled an arm over my shoulders. His eyes went down to Luke. "And shouldn't this one be in bed already?"

"Not for another three hours," I said, letting the hippo go when Luke lost all interest in me upon the appearance of Brian and, therefore, a new lap for him to get acquainted with. The deal was sealed when he spotted the cowry shell bracelet around Brian's wrist. "It might be less than that, though, since he's had a long day. You wouldn't believe the loot that a baby can pull in—I don't know what it is with women and shopping for babies..."

"Are you complain—hey, kid," Brian said, his focus changing as Luke latched onto the wrist containing the cowry shell bracelet. A small smirk appeared on his face, and when he spoke, he voice was softer. "You like that?"

Luke did like it. He grinned and tugged on it with both hands.

Brian grinned and made quick work of the knot, letting the bracelet slide off and into Luke's hands.

"Careful," I warned. "Don't let him put it in his mouth."

"I do have an iota of common sense, you know," Brian said dryly, as Luke began to squirm.

"Down?" I asked him, while trying to grab the bracelet from the flailing limb.

"I'd say he wants down," Brian observed. He caught Luke easily as he rolled off of his lap, and spotted him as he slid down off the couch and onto the floor.

Luke pulled himself to his feet, clutching the bracelet tightly in one fist.

"What's he going to do with it?" Brian asked, sounding wary for the first time.

"I have no idea," I replied, watching Luke examine the bracelet in his hands. I leaned forward and held out a hand. "Luke, can I have that, please? Can you give me the bracelet?"

"Dada!" Luke said, waving his fist a little bit and grinning.

"Yes, give Dada the bracelet," I coaxed, extending my hand a little further. "Brian wants it back. That's Brian's bracelet."

But Luke had other ideas.

"Bye!" he said, waving his free hand in the air, and then he turned and started walking away unsteadily.

My mouth fell open, and even Brian's eyebrows shot up slightly.

"Well, we know where he gets that from," Brian put in amusedly, recovering as Luke toddled across the room with Brian's bracelet clutched in his hand.

"Fuck off," I said, elbowing him. "You want me to go get it for you?"

Brian shook his head. "It's fine. I'll get it back by the end of the night."

"You mean you don't want to make it a Christmas present?" I teased.

"Weren't you just complaining that he had too many already?"

"Complaining? Hell no, I'm set on baby shit for the next three months—even my mother bought him a Christmas gift, and she's still adjusting to the fact that he exists." I shrugged, leaning back against Brian while keeping an eye on Luke to make sure that he didn't start eating the bracelet. "I'd hate to see the piles of stuff Gus got."

"If the munchers ever pull their shit together, he'll be making serious bank in December," Brian agreed. "He'll get Christmas  _and_  Hanukkah presents."

"Speak of the devil," I said, raising my eyebrows as Lindsay reentered the living room with Gus.

She set Gus on the floor and started going through her diaper bag. Luke took an immediate interest in the baby on the floor, letting the bracelet drop to the floor and staring at Gus with wide, unblinking eyes and parted lips.

"I can't tell if he's staring at Gus, or at the hideous outfit Lindsay's got him wearing," Brian muttered.

"I told you, Luke thinks Gus is the greatest toy he's ever seen. He's going to follow him around all night now that he's spotted him."

"My son has a stalker. Great."

I grinned to myself and shifted, watching Luke walk over to Gus. It was amazing that he was walking—it really was. It seemed like only yesterday that I'd held him in the waiting room as the doctors tried to save Sara's life. He'd barely been crawling at that point. But now he was walking and talking and…

God.

"How are you healing up?" Brian asked.

"I can move my hand," I said proudly, holding it up and wiggling my fingers, with minimal wincing. The back of my hand was a mess of darkened bruising now, and it hurt to move, but I was slowly regaining functionality. "My chest is good, too. It was a rough week, but I'm almost all healed up and ready to take on the world again."

"That's right," Brian said, now smirking. "You've got your 'plan'."

I beamed. "My plan!"

"Plan?" Emmett asked, butting into the conversation.

I grinned at him madly. "I have a plan," I informed him. "And it's a good plan. It's a really good plan. In fact, my plan is better than your plan."

Emmett blinked. "I don't have a plan."

" _Exactly_."

Emmett stared at me in bewilderment, and I continued to give him the shiniest smile I could manage. To my left, Brian was putting obvious effort into not cracking up.

"Right," Emmett finally said. "You know, I think I'm going to go refill my wine. You two want anything?"

After he left, I let my smile fade a bit and settled my gaze on Luke, who was currently investigating one of the toys that Lindsay had laid out for Gus. My son was happy. Debbie and Vic were cooking up a storm in the kitchen for Christmas dinner, I'd seen Daphne just last night, Mom had dropped by earlier in the day for an hour or so, and Brian was here at my side tonight.

I might have been in freefall for the last few months, but I'd managed to find a somewhat soft place to land in the end. I'd survived. I was a survivor.

I was a survivor.

Brian nudged me from behind. "Hey. If you're not going to give me a lap dance, move. I don't fucking  _cuddle_."

I smirked and nestled a little closer. "You do now."

And that was that.


	18. Epilogue - End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is truly the end of the road--no sequels. I knew where I was going to end this story from the very beginning, because it really hammers the entire point of this story home, and adding sequels would only diminsh that point. Thank you to everyone who's been reading and giving feedback--your comments make my day!

**Breakneck**   
**Chapter 18: End**

In the end, it was Daphne who convinced me to go to prom.

"But tickets are expensive," I had complained.

"That's why I'm not making you pay for mine," Daphne had replied breezily. "And you know you can get your mom to pay for it, if you guilt trip her hard enough. Just blather on about how you had to grow up too quickly and how you need to spend one last night as a kid, she'll totally buy it."

I had frowned. "And I really shouldn't just be going out. I spend enough time away from Luke as it is, between school and work."

"And your Saturday nights with Brian," Daphne had pointed out with an arched eyebrow.

"Only sometimes!" I had protested.

Daphne had snorted. "Please. You go home with him every Saturday night, without fail. You can just tell him he'll have to live without you for one Saturday night, because you'll be at your prom."

"But—but—" I had momentarily blanked for other arguments, before something finally popped into my head. "But I don't even  _like_  anyone at fucking St. James!"

"And think of what a great big 'Fuck You' it would be to everyone if you came anyway!" Daphne had exclaimed, eyes shining. "C'mon, Justin. You can't let them deny you your prom. And you owe me this one, since you skipped out on Homecoming this year."

Ten minutes later, I'd agreed to go to prom.

 

I was set to arrive at Daphne's house for pictures in thirty minutes, since Emmett had insisted that he could only prepare one person for prom today and that he couldn't have anyone around to distract him from his work.

Usually, I thought Emmett was kind of awesome. I loved his crazy dancing and his hokey tales from his days in Hazelhurst, Mississippi.

After three hours of being 'prepped' for prom, though, I was about ready to kill him.

"It's. Straight," I said through gritted teeth. "Really."

"Mm…" Emmett said, clearly hedging. "Well. Maybe. But the trick is to get it so that it'll  _stay_  straight."

I sighed. "People will be fixing it for me all night, regardless of how straight it is. It's the thing with bow ties."

"Be that as it may, trust me, you'll look fifty times classier than those Neanderthals who show up in ties," Emmett assured me, tweaking the bow tie again.

I just barely refrained from rolling my eyes.

But thankfully, Emmett took a step back and took in my entire appearance critically, which gave me hope that maybe we were somewhere near the end. I'd reminded Emmett of when I had to leave at least seven times by now, so I was pretty sure another reminder wasn't in order.

"Ooo-ee!" Emmett said, suddenly straightening and clapping his hands together. "Honey, if you don't look just  _edible_. Good thing Brian isn't downstairs or I don't think you'd get past the couch before he had you bent over the back of it."

"I asked him to go with me," I told Emmett, with a slight smirk. "One final 'fuck you' to St. James, just to really piss them off, you know?"

Emmett snorted. "So did he run away screaming, or just laugh his ass off?" A split second's pause. "…he didn't actually say yes, right?"

"Nah," I said, shaking my head. "He's been cranky lately. You know, the whole birthday thing."

"Heaven forbid Brian Kinney age like the rest of us mortals," Emmett said, rolling his eyes.

I didn't mention that the other reason Brian had been cranky was because of Michael, who had rekindled and doused their friendship in the space of a few hours last weekend. He'd shown up at the loft drunk, pleading with Brian to give him a reason not to follow Dr. Dave to Portland, and had then woken up the following morning yelling about mixed signals and Brian trying to seduce him. I'd had to pry it out of Brian over the course of three days, and was still a bit irritated with him and his complete inability to say no to Michael.

So Brian was probably out sulking and drinking tonight.

"Okay," Emmett said, flicking some invisible piece of lint off my lapel. "You're ready. Just let me…"

Tweak the bow tie.

Yep.

 

"Justin, babies are not good for dress clothes," Emmett said nervously, clearly  _just_  restraining himself from ripping Luke out of my arms. "They spit, vomit, pee, drool, cry, poop, fart—oh my god, do not let him fart on you, we'll never get the smell out in time."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm sure Luke will do none of those things. Right, buddy?"

Luke nodded happily, giving me a toothy grin.

I grinned back, shifting him a little higher on my hip. He was getting heavier every day, it seemed.

"Do you remember why I'm all dressed up?" I asked Luke.

Luke blinked.

"It's my prom, tonight," I told him. "It's my  _dance_."

"Dah!" Luke squealed as his arms wrapped around my own arm tightly, recognizing the word and what would come next.

"I'm going to dance," I told him, taking out a deep breath, "just like… this!"

And then we were off, spinning crazily around the room, me lifting Luke up and down as we went round and round and Luke screaming and giggling and loving every minute of it.

"So help me, if that child vomits on my creation…" I heard Emmett mutter.

To his left, Debbie was clicking away madly with her camera, and I heard her reply, "Stop worrying, they do this all the time with no vomiting whatsoever. We'll just have to straighten his bow tie a little when he's done, that's all."

I continued to spin Luke, laughing right along with him.

 

Prom went by pretty quickly after I was finally allowed to leave the house. I picked up Daphne ("Three hours to get ready? Seriously? Oh, here, your bow tie's not straight…"), suffered through dinner ("Justin, let me… There."), the announcement of the prom king and queen ("Booooring. Hey, you're crooked again…"), and was very lamely 'bopping to the beat' of standard prom music, and also avoiding Daphne's so-called helpful fingers, when Brian arrived.

Yes, that's right. Brian arrived.

He came into the room, students parting before him like the Red Sea, and after exchanging some words that I have no clear memory of, we danced. Together. In front of the whole senior class of St. James Academy.

I'm not sure my feet even touched the floor. I couldn't get over the fact that he'd  _come_ , the fact that he was here for me, to dance with me, to let me show him off, and even when he said that he had to leave about a minute after our big dance, I couldn't keep the smile off of my face.

And he didn't try to fix my bow tie once.

 

I was pretty collected, walking out of the hotel with Brian with only a grin on my face—that was, until we stepped outside into the parking garage. The rush of cool May wind hitting my face made me shiver, and then suddenly, the twitch of nerves made everything  _explode_ and I could barely keep myself from jumping up and down and downright skipping to the Jeep.

Brian had come to my prom. For  _me_.

I grinned manically, probably looked slightly demented, and almost trembled with the effort of containing the ballooning happiness in my chest. I couldn't help but glance over at Brian to make sure that he was still there, that he hadn't been just a figment of my imagination.

The last thing I expected to see when my eyes locked onto his was a sparkling happiness in the hazel irises that mirrored my own.

"I can't believe we just did that," I said giddily. "I didn't even know you knew how to  _dance!_ "

"I had my doubts about you," Brian replied, raising his eyebrows. "I was worried that the only ballroom dancing you knew was that crazyass spinning thing you do with Luke."

I tried not to giggle, and in the end, it came out as an odd  _snerk_.

"Of course I can ballroom dance," I said, bouncing on the balls of my feet and suppressing the urge to slap Brian's arm. "Duh! Daphne and I had to attend lessons at the country club every summer for  _years_. She's a disaster as a follow, though, absolutely no ability to give over control. I've always been good at both. I don't think you'd be a very good follow either, you know."

Brian gave me a withering look. "I don't  _follow_."

He pushed the UP button for the elevator, and the doors immediately opened.

"Following's the fun part, though," I said, following him in. "You get to spin and dip and look awesome! The lead has to do all the thinking and directing."

Brian pushed the button for his floor and then leaned back against the wall of the elevator. "If this is your mental state while dancing," he said dryly, while pulling me toward him, "I think it's best if you stay far away from any roles that require thinking."

Flush against his body, I leaned up and kissed him hard. I wanted to convey all of my gratitude that I knew he would never verbally accept, all the glee that my body was thrumming with. I was just so fucking  _happy_ and I wanted Brian to feel it.

Fingers snaked up into the back of my hair, deepening the kiss for a few seconds, and then Brian released me.

"So when you say that you don't think I should lead," I said breathlessly, feeling slightly drunk with giddiness, "what you really mean is that you don't want me sucking your cock. Right? Since I shouldn't be doing things that require directing and thinking."

Brian's eyes narrowed. "If this whole lead/follow conversation is actually a euphemism for sexual positions, then let me make something clear: I do not  _ever_ follow. Ever. Put the thought in a little box and mail it to Russia with instructions to shoot on sight, because it's not going to happen."

The elevator dinged and the doors opened.

"C'mon," I insisted, taking Brian's hands and pulling him out of the elevator. "Let me show you!"

"I don't—"

"Like this," I said, slipping my right arm around Brian's waist and taking his right hand in my left.

Brian looked down at me, somewhere between amused and incredulous. "You're a foot shorter than me."

"Move with me, or I'll step on your feet and scuff your shoes," I threatened, poking his back with one of my fingers.

"Brat," Brian said, with only a bit of real irritation.

I grinned.

Label-queen that he was, the shoes had to be at least five hundred dollars, and I was pretty sure that he took his shoes to a shop downtown instead of polishing them himself. Or possibly he didn't even bother polishing them and just bought new ones. It would be a very Brian thing to do.

"Aaaand... One-two-three, one-two-three," I started chanting, moving us across the parking garage. I kept up the rhythm and Brian stumbled along with me. "Which way is your car?"

"Left. You're too short to be—fuck!" Brian stumbled and knocked into me, but I managed to keep my balance and the time, manhandling him back into position, snickering.

"Spin coming in three measures," I warned, dancing us down the center of the parking lot. "One-two-three, one-two-three—"

"I'm not spinning," Brian warned.

"Spin!" I cried anyway, flinging my arm up and giving Brian's waist a push—

The grip on my hand changed and something pushed at my hip, sending me into a reflexive spin outwards, and then suddenly I found myself being reeled back in by Brian.

We hadn't even missed a beat.

"Asshole," I laughed, sliding an arm up around his shoulders.

Brian looked smug, keeping an iron grip around my waist. The suddenly his face split into a grin and he tugged me closer, lifting me right off the ground and spinning me in a wild circle, making me shriek. He spun me round once, twice, three times, and then finally released me.

I went stumbling backward, laughing, and ended up back against the Jeep. Across the aisle, Brian was making his way toward me and I stayed where I was.

"I was right," I told him, smirking as he approached. "You  _are_ a shitty follow. You need to practice more."

"But you're so good at it already," Brian replied, and when he reached me, he planted a hand on either side of my shoulders, effectively trapping me against the Jeep. "Why fix what's not fucked up?"

Our mouths were suddenly about an inch apart, noses almost touching.

"I had no idea Brian Kinney was so unadventurous," I murmured, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Little boy, I've had people trying to convince me to  _follow_ for years. What makes you think you're so different?" Brian challenged, lips almost on mine, breath hot on my face.

I smirked, and when I spoke, my lips brushed against his. "I'm special. And you know it."

And then his lips latched onto mine, tongue pushing its way into my mouth as one hand wrapped around the back of my neck, fingers pushing up into the back of my hair. I moaned, tasting Brian and feeling his heat all over my body, the rub of his nose against my cheek and the feeling of his hand trailing down the front of my shirt. Suddenly, the bow tie was way too tight and the suit I was wearing had entirely too many parts, and all I could think was  _naked now Brian sex yes_.

Brian somehow managed to deepen the kiss, hand trailing lower and brushing against the fabric around my crotch, making my cock jump for attention. Dizzily, I reached for Brian's neck and latched onto the white scarf, gripping both ends and yanking Brian even closer.

"Fuck," I gasped, as we broke for air. "Fuck, Brian."

Brian's eyes were dilated in the dim lighting of the parking garage, and I could feel his interest pushing against my thigh. He wasn't fully hard, but he was getting there.

It occurred to me that my prom was still going on. Also, that Daphne was expecting me to come back.

"I can't," I said, when Brian leaned in for another kiss. "I can't leave Daphne."

Brian's mouth twisted, and his hands flexed on my shoulders in frustration. "Can't she get a ride from someone else?"

I tried and failed to hide my smile. "Maybe. But as her date, it would be kind of rude to leave her. Plus, I have our tickets to after-prom."

I was getting better at saying no to Brian when I was horny. It took a supreme amount of self control, but I was learning.

"I'm sure there are plenty of boys to fuck at Babylon," I offered, although I didn't want to particularly think about Brian going off and fucking other boys after what he'd given me tonight. I tried not to let it show on my face.

Brian heaved a sigh, releasing me.

"I still can't believe you came," I said, the grin coming unbidden to my face. "Tonight was amazing."

And when Brian looked doubtful, I decided to press onward, bringing a hand up to tug at the white scarf again.

"It was the best night of my life," I told him softly, meaning it with all my heart.

"Even if it was ridiculously romantic?" Brian asked, a smile now playing at his lips.

"All these months spent saying 'Brian Kinney doesn't do romance', only to find out that Brian Kinney is actually really fucking good at it," I remarked, still playing with the scarf. "Boy. I wonder what other claims I'll get you to refute in the near future?"

Brian slid the scarf off and looped it around my neck, tugging me off the Jeep and closer to him."The one where I swore to not kill irritating little twinks who follow me around everywhere."

I so wasn't buying it.

And it must have shown on my face, because all of a sudden Brian was turning us around so that he had his back to the Jeep and I was facing away from him. His hand slid around my neck, tweaking the bow tie, and there was suddenly hot breath on my ear.

"You should get back to your prom. I'm sure there are lots of people who want to talk to you."

I rolled my eyes. "I'll just bet."

Brian gave me a little push. "Go on."

I glanced back questioningly, fingers running across the white silk on the back of my neck.

Brian nodded.

And I got to keep the scarf? Fuck yes.

My face split into a huge smile and I started on my way back to the hotel, barely hearing the sounds of Brian getting into the Jeep behind me. Was it really possible that my life was coming together like this? Seven months ago I'd had a baby to support and absolutely no safety nets waiting to catch me if I slipped. Now I had a family, a job, a huge financial cushion to fall back on, a college acceptance, and most unexpectedly, I had  _Brian_.

He wasn't really aware of that, of course. The series of small concessions I'd been dragging out of him over the last year had stacked up to something larger than even I'd realized until Brian had walked in tonight. And when we'd been dancing… he'd looked so happy.

Brian's voice broke through my thoughts.

"Justin!"

And I turned around with a huge grin on my face, knowing that whatever he had to say, it couldn't possibly make me feel any happier.

I was on top of the  _world_.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Steps](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1551833) by [shadowfax044](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowfax044/pseuds/shadowfax044)




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